


Blameless

by PrincessOfTheDark (FantasyPrincess)



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: F/F, Gay Sex, M/M, Masterbation, Multi, Naked Time, Oral Sex, Threesome - F/F/M, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-13
Updated: 2017-03-02
Packaged: 2018-09-24 00:39:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 21,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9692012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FantasyPrincess/pseuds/PrincessOfTheDark
Summary: Harold starts acting strangely





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic takes place in the first half of Season 4 and is loosely inspired by the Original Star Trek episodes "Naked Time" / "This Side of Paradise", with a Person of Interest twist of course.

The explosion came from the front end of the subway and shook the entire underground terminal. Or at least that’s what Harold heard Sameen say. Was that Sameen? He couldn’t tell exactly. Definitely not John.

Harold groaned and tried to sit up but his head started pounding.

Root was next to him, trying to keep him down. “Harold, no no, don’t get up,” she said as she pushed his shoulders down. “Harold?” He looked at her, but she didn’t seem to be sitting still.

“M-Miss Groves?” Harold said. His voice sounded funny to himself. He swallowed a couple of times and tasted blood. His eyes widened. “What happened?” he insisted, his voice cracking, and then coughing starting.

“Harold – Harold, calm down.” That was John’s voice, no question. “There was an explosion in the tunnel.” Harold tried to get up again, only to have John press down on him this time. Harold whined. “Shh, don’t strain yourself. You were the closest to the blast, we’re all fine, but you need to rest.” John gave him a sad smile. “I’ve got this, please rest.”

John leaned in to give him a kiss which Harold gasped through. Harold sobbed breathily and tried to speak around his lips, “But… John, John what about…” John kissed him harder and he relaxed that time.

Harold then felt a sting on his arm and bit John’s lip. “That’s not fair, Mr. Reese.” John smiled apologetically. Harold gritted his teeth and tried to keep his eyes open, but it was no use and he slipped off to sleep.

*

John held him until he was breathing slowly and steadily. He took his pulse and stood up. “Shaw, what the hell happened?”

Sameen was standing next to Root at the computer terminal, watching as Root pulled up feed after feed from the last two hours. “I don’t know, John, as far as we can tell, there’s been no breech!”

“Well, something happened!”

“We’re handling it,” Root said. “Just be glad the computers are unharmed.” Sameen looked at John and shrugged. “Ugh, someone got into the feeds!” Root let out a shrill cry of defeat and stepped back. John and Sameen leaned in. “Look,” she worked the mouse from her place of loss. “Here, this is one and a half hours ago, completely undamaged.” They were watching the street above the subway with it’s usual scurrying people. “But then look, static for three and a half minutes and then, this!” Now, they were starring at a briefcase. “Someone must have left that there but I can’t see who. They got too close to us, John. They only missed the work station by feet!”

Sameen was shaking her head. “I can’t see who it was. Do we have anything else, can the machine help?”

Root shook her head. “She’s not talking to me so, no.” She pinched the bridge of her nose. John sighed loudly. “The only thing I can determine is almost every feed for miles around is corrupted, it could have been anything and,” she walked back over the console and typed furiously. “This was not the only location to receive a care package.” She pulled up several feeds from other streets all across Manhattan. “Look here, and here. Briefcases with bombs went off all over the city. To all the pedestrians it just looked like normal steam and vapor coming up from the subway. It didn’t have an explosive affect on the surface! Not even train conductors or the MTA have reported anything.”

Sameen was pacing now. “But… If someone was trying to kill us, wouldn’t the machine have warned us?”

Root shrugged, “Maybe they weren’t trying to kill us.” They both looked at her. “I don’t know what they were trying to do, but we’re not dead, so it must have been something else.

John gritted his teeth and turned on his heel. He marched into Harold’s makeshift bedroom in the train terminal and grabbed a blanket and pillow. He turned to walk back out but stopped. He felt the itch to shoot something all over his gun hand, but he had no target, he didn’t have one single lead. He closed his eyes and took a couple of deep breaths. He dropped his head.

That was how he came across the book by Harold’s bedside table. He slowly walked over to it, and picked it up, and brought everything back to the bed. Harold was still very passed out, but John managed to put the pillow carefully under his head and wrap him in the blanket. He examined the book, pulled up a chair, and opened it to the place where Harold had stopped. He began to read the words to him and keep the waiver out of his voice as much as he could.

*

_Harold wasn’t exactly aware of his surroundings. He could hear mumbling that sounded like all of his beloved friends, higher pitched than usual, definitely fear, but he couldn’t understand what they were saying and he couldn’t move._

_It was dark. So dark. He knew he was warm, and he felt agitated but mildly content._

_“Harold Finch?”_

_“Who’s there?”_

_The voice was ethereal and calming, but Harold didn’t want to be calmed down, he wanted to know who had done this to him. “We are here to make you feel … blameless.”_

_“Blameless? What does that mean? Who is we? What is going on?”_

_“Harold Finch, you need to relax.”_

_Somewhere in the dark, he could feel a cool blue glow at the base of his spine._

_“What… are you doing?” He may have flinched, he wasn’t sure, but he suddenly felt… good… more than good… great. He felt amazing._

_“Does it matter?”_

_Harold felt a smile spread across his face and thought he might have shaken his head. “I’m not entirely sure, but I think it does.”_

_“This is a gift, Harold, enjoy it.”_

*

Harold blinked awake, the smile still plastered on his lips. John was slumped in his chair, snoozing lightly. Harold looked around himself for the rest, but he didn’t see anyone. The station was still in disarray, but for some reason that didn’t matter. He was cocooned in his blanket and settling nicely into the makeshift cot they’d brought him to.

While still smiling, Harold sat up. His back pained him distantly, but that wasn’t his top priority. He chuckled to himself and playfully wacked at John’s hand.

John snapped awake, clutching a book to his chest.

“Good morning, handsome!” Harold said.

John starred at him. Harold could see he’d been crying and he almost giggled. Somewhere in the back of his brain, he knew that wasn’t the appropriate response to his cherished one’s discomfort, but couldn’t imagine what the right answer was. He tried to maneuver himself closer the John as much as he could. He moved the book out of his grasp, grabbed at his shirt, and forced him down to kiss him.

John was shocked but returned the kiss, feeling his breath still hitching with unshed tears. Harold seemed unaffected by everything he’d lived through and somehow found a new passion for public displays of affection, because the Harold he knew wouldn’t have done this in broad daylight and certainly wouldn’t be trying to disrobe John.

Something about that snapped John out of it. He carefully pressed on Harold’s shoulders to give him a little air. Harold balanced dreamily on the edge of the cot and attempted to finish unbuttoning John’s shirt. “Hey, Finch, you ok?”

Harold was still smiling. He couldn’t help it. “I haven’t felt this good in… Forever, John! I feel like I could run for miles!”

John felt a pang of guilt creep into his stomach as he wondered aloud, “But you can’t run, Harold. Your back.”

Harold laughed, full throated, a sound John had never heard before from his reserved precious nerd. “I know!” He laughed even harder. “But it’s hard to explain, it’s like I feel… as if I wouldn’t even care.” Harold was moving around on the cot so much; John didn’t know if he should restrain him somehow. Sameen had said there wasn’t any major damage, that he probably just needed to sleep it off and he’d have some small cuts and bruises when he woke up, but he seemed happy and completely unharmed.

John starred at him, unable to fathom what was wrong, because something was definitely wrong. Harold kept trying to reach him, still laughing and treating it like a game.

John kept evading. “Harold, Harold stop, please!”

Maybe it was the please, but Harold stopped reaching and just rolled over onto his stomach and hungrily watched John, waiting for permission again.

John wasn’t entirely sure what to do now, he didn’t actually think Harold would understand or obey him. “Can you stand up?” Harold snapped up from the cot, the most fluid motion John had ever seen him do. “Doesn’t your back hurt?” Harold shrugged and quirked his mouth, pursing his lips in a mischievous crinkle. John reach out a hand and Harold took it, rubbing it against his face like a cat. “You… you can do that, but keep the private stuff, still private ok?” Harold only nodded again and again, still moving John’s hand all over his face.

John led Harold over to his work station. He cleared his throat. The two women turned, both shocked and happy to see Harold upright.

Harold leapt, as much as he could, from John to Root. He crashed into her and held her in a spectacular hug, laughing uproariously. Root stumbled a bit, but caught him deftly and braced herself against the desk. “Harold?” Root looked to John, who exaggeratedly shrugged. “I’m… glad to see you’re ok. How do you feel?”

Harold pulled back a little and left a big kiss on her cheek. “I’m so … relieved, Miss Gro- Root! My darling precious Root!”

Root’s face heated with the praise and she wasn’t entirely sure what to do with Harold careened into her in the tight embrace.

“Uh, hey Harold?” Sameen said, tapping his shoulder. “I think you’re cutting off Root’s circulation.”

Harold let Root go warmly, but instantly. He seemed to blink out of his musing, only to drop back into it when he saw Sameen standing next to him and went to hug her next. She only barely turned in time to have him crash into her shoulder and grip tightly, her face as he nuzzled her arm was disgusted, with a touch of longing.

John finally approached. “Harold, I think that’s enough.”

Harold looked up at him, and carefully unattached himself from Sameen. He came over, dutifully to John’s side and John took his hand again. He placed it on his cheek and sighed pleasantly.

The women were starring.

“So?” John said, turning to them.

Root’s smile was peaking out from behind her determination to think clearly. “So, it looks like Harold is… experiencing… something…”

“It’s like someone turned him up to eleven.” Sameen said, still trying to straighten her clothes.

Harold perked up at that. “Yes, yes it feels that way. But more like…” He walked around John twice. “I had a dream… after you knocked me out,” he slapped John on the ass and leaned in, “I’ll get you back for that later!” and booped him on the nose. John was speechless and didn’t even know how to respond so Harold kept going. “And then I heard a voice. A wonderful voice, that gave me a gift.” Harold made as if to dance with John, but John carefully moved him back to his place at his side.

Root stopped smiling. “What kind of gift?”

Harold sighed and smiled, “I’m not sure, something about no more blame, or feeling blameless? I don’t know what it is, and I feel like I should care more, but I just can’t!” He let a peel of laughter and hugged John around his midsection. “Would you ladies excuse us? I have some very important information to review with Mr. Reese at the moment.”

Sameen jogged forward with a syringe. Harold evaded her. “Now now, Finch, I promise, this isn’t more knock out juice, I just need a sample of your blood.” Harold stepped forward, grinning widely, and offered her his arm with complete abandon. The pinch was nothing, almost entirely background noise. Sameen’s mouth quirked. “Now you two go have some fun.”

Harold laughed, and grabbed John’s hand. John seemed perturbed and gave one last glance their way, “Are you sure you don’t need my help?” and saw Sameen wave and then Harold pulled him hard into his bedroom.

*

Harold had never moved this fast before. He laid out the bed and pulled out the lube from the bottom drawer and was back at John’s side, undoing his pants before John had a moment to really understand what he had in mind.

“Harold, Harold wait,” John said and Harold stopped and stood in front of him. His hands absently caressing John’s back. “We don’t have to do this. There’s something wrong with you.”

Harold leaned in to nuzzle John’s chest through his shirt. John had covered himself up the best he could, but Harold could smell him there. “I know there’s something wrong,” Harold said, nuzzling harder, trying to drown himself in John’s scent as much as he could. “But I also know I’ve never felt this good before.” He looked up at John. “Never, Mr. Reese,” he said, intimately. “I want to know what it’s like to feel you against me, without all the extra nonsense I usually have on my mind. It’s like being free for the first time to enjoy everything without shame or guilt. I want you to take me hard, so that I can remember this as the moment I truly was … blameless for anything.”

“You’re crying,” John said, immediately pushing him to sit on the bed. “What’s wrong Harold, what’s happening to you?” John went to his knees, grabbing a tissue and dabbing gently.

Harold’s face was wet, even though he was still smiling. He touched it with his hand and moved the tears between his fingers. “I’m just… So happy…” Harold said, chuckling heavily to himself. He leaned back on the bed, seductively. “John, John please,” he said, moving his hands over himself and rubbing his suddenly hard cock through his suit. He gasped, the sheer ecstasy making him almost cum just from that small touch.

John swallowed, but eventually shook his head. “I can’t, not until I know what’s wrong. You’ll regret it later, Harold. I can’t be the cause of that, I won’t.”

Harold’s face fell just a little, but he shook his head. “I chose you, John, my John, because I thought your moral compass rivaled my own, and I see I was right.” Harold moved back onto the bed. “Can’t you see how hot that is?” He laughed again, flipping over and grinding himself into the bed. John stood up. “No, no wait, don’t go… if you won’t take advantage of me, then at least let me a small guilty pleasure?”

John clenched his jaw. “What’s that?”

Harold keened, “Watch me? You don’t have to do anything that you don’t want to or that puts me in danger of later regrets, you don’t even have to be in the same room! Just stand outside my room door and watch me… This way if you walk away I never need know, but if you stay, ooh, the rush, I can’t stand it…” Harold was undoing his pants and ripping off his shirt.

John half smiled, watching him excitedly struggle. Finally, he did help a little, with the vest buttons and the cufflinks. “Thank you John,” and Harold pawed at his hip in gratitude. Harold sat back and spread lube on his hands, making them slick and warm, all the while watching John.

He gripped himself and moaned, low and animal like. It was a sound John had never heard him make. John’s body was pulsing, they each watched the other intently. He shut his eyes and John thought it was a perfect moment to slip away. He wanted to move, he thought he should. But Harold was so captivating. He’d never watched him touch himself before. He woke up in the night once, to Harold’s grunts and movement, but immediately moved his hand to help Harold cum and it was the most glorious thing he’d ever experienced.

This was something on an entirely new level. Harold was spurned on by John’s eyes, drinking him in. He’d said he’d felt blameless. Maybe this was Harold’s life completely unfettered by guilt or punishment for his misdeeds. John’s heart broke a little for the smaller man.

The sympathy turned nefarious pretty quickly when Harold arched his back, his hand moving even faster. John’s jaw dropped, as Harold locked eyes with him, heavy lidded and drowning in his own ecstasy. His other hand roamed his chest and around his neck while he pumped, ferociously. “John, it’s so good,” He whimpered. “I never thought I’d be proud enough to do this for you, but I am.” He laughed the heady laugh of a man pleasing himself and his mate.

John smiled, deviantly, “That’s right Harold, show me what you can do!”

Harold laughed harder, “Thank you, Mr. Reese,” and he roughly pulled himself, slow and steadily, keeping his eyes locked with John until he finally crested, coming hard and fast in his sweat soaked sheets.

John couldn’t help it, he knelt next to him and kissed his cheek, “That was wonderful,” he praised him, while Harold squirmed and tried to catch his breath. His laugh had turned breathy. “You sleep now, Finch, I want to check in with the ladies and see what they’ve got on this.”

“I can help,” Harold said, loose and drowsy.

John took him in and grunted. “I think you need some more sleep, I’ll check on you in a moment.” Harold smiled, and kissed John’s palms. “Sleep well,” he said, bringing the blanket over him and leaving the room.

*

Sameen was looking through a microscope in the small makeshift lab that Root had created for her.

“What have we got,” John said, slowly entering the room.

Sameen smirked without looking up. “Over so soon, John?”

“You know me better than that Shaw,” John said, buttoning up his shirt. “No really, any news?”

“I’m not sure yet,” she sighed. “I can see something different, but I’m not really into this research stuff. I patched people up, I didn’t check their DNA.”

John checked his gun before holstering it. “His DNA? You think it’s been.. tampered with somehow?”

Sameen sighed. “I don’t know, Reese, but I’ll let you know when I come up with something. In the meantime, I need a sample of your blood. If something is affecting Harold, we could all be at risk. Don’t go above ground until I can confirm.” John gritted is teeth. “Business of saving people, your grounded for now.”

“What happens if we get a number?”

Sameen cocked her head to the side and tapped her ear piece. “Hey Lionel, how’s it going?” she moved away to help the Detective with his latest assignment and John let out a breathy chuckle.

John sat at Harold’s computer and watched for anything out of the ordinary.

*

Root wheeled a bunch of servers over to a closet near to Harold’s bedroom. She was stacking servers when Harold was standing slightly to her left. “Harold!” she said, nearly falling backwards in surprise.

“Root! Can I help?” Harold’s face was filled with happiness and sweetness. “I’d like to help.”

Root smiled back and nodded. He took care of the servers on the lower shelves, while she settled them into the higher ones. “Thank you, Harold,” she said, genuinely.

“Of course, Miss Groves, this is a wonderful way to pass the time.”

“I would have thought you’d want to rest. Aren’t you … uncomfortable?”

Harold thought on that for a moment, but then his eyes narrowed. “I suppose I should be, but again, all I can feel is… ecstatic!” He smiled again and stepped in close to her. “Tell me something,” he said, his voice dropping low. “When you first encountered me in cyberspace,” he said, in a somewhat illicit tone, “Did you wonder about… us?”

Root smiled widely. “Harold, you know my sexual preferences better than that.”

Harold smiled, eyes sparking and simply waited. “Root, you misunderstand. My impression was that you find enigma’s attractive. I see you happy with Shaw, and I don’t even think that attraction is entirely one sided, but I would never do anything to jeopardize that. I merely asked, if you’d wondered?”

Root nodded. “I suppose I did, you are the most brilliant mind I’ve ever come across, Harry. How could I not have wondered?” She smiled just as broadly as Harold.

Harold gave a little chirp. “Well, Miss Groves, no time like the present.”

Root’s jaw dropped open. “But… John?”

Harold smiled wider. “He’s preoccupied. And I don’t think he’ll regret my little indulgences. You’re simply helping an old friend to feel better as far as I see it.”

Root scoffed. “I thought you already felt good.”

His smile quirked and he took off his glasses. “One can always feel better.”

Root blushed and put one last thing away in a drawer, and let Harold pull her away.

There was a small desk in the backroom, and Root climbed up on it. Harold put a hand on either side of her hips and leaned in for a passionate kiss. Root moaned into his mouth and let her tongue explore the sweetness she found there. She felt like she was drowning in him, the sweet spices of his cologne and the intoxicating level of his expertise at kissing.

When he pulled away to push off her jacket, she was whimpering until he leaned in close enough to allow her access to his neck. He tore at her clothing and his own as best he could, while she sucked and licked her way across his collar bone. Harold gasped, finally unhooking her bra and clutching her close to him, moving his hands over her back. She shoved his shirt off and purred, running her hands up his sides. Harold let out a yelp of approval and she added her nails.

He planted another spine-tingling kiss on her lips and then moved to her throat. There, he planted delicate kisses, until Root cried and continued to move down her chest. She sighed, and wept, and his hands found her breasts as he caressed and kissed them. He suckled her and she ran her hands through his hair and groaned when he nibbled her flesh. “Harold, please,” she whimpered.

Harold moved further down her body, kissing her stomach and eased Root down to lay on top of the desk. His hands moved across her thighs as he moved lower, she inched further onto the table so he wouldn’t have to kneel down. Finally, he reached his treasure trove. Her nether hair was a beautiful downy texture, and he ran his cheek over it, letting it tickle him and enjoy it’s softness.

He massaged her thighs, and slowly brought down his lips to kiss her there. She moaned and lifted her legs to give him better access. “Yes, please!” he delved in with that final approval, licking and sucking. He nudged her clit with his nose and gave a prideful laugh when her back arched.

He continued to moved deeper and deeper, adding a finger and then two, making her writhe and letting it build. Quite suddenly, she climaxed, holding him in place and he did not disappoint her, but instead let her squirm and position him exactly where she wanted him while he was relentless in spending her pleasure.

Root became a bendy soup of limbs, as wave of afterglow descended upon her shaking form. Harold propped himself up on his elbows and watched her as she slowly came back to her senses.

Root briefly picked up her head and tried to speak twice. In the end she opted to just give him a thumbs up. Harold chuckled as he helped to to sit up. Root took a few deep breaths. “Give me a minute and then we can do you,” she said, a wicked smile on her face.

Harold took both her hands and placed them on his face. “This was perfect, Miss Groves, I feel … invigorated. I’m quite pleased as to how this panned out.” Root starred at him. “Well, of course I’d wondered.”

“Since when?”

“Since the Library, since I was at your beck and call.” Harold smiled right at her with wild abandon.

Root nudged his shoulder. “Was this the extent of your fantasy?”

Harold shrugged. “You’re magnificent, Root. Truly one of a kind. I wanted to know what it was like to make a majestic animal scream like that.”

Root’s eyebrows rose and she smashed her lips on his in a frantic kiss. “How can I please you, Harry.” She said, leaping off the desk. She pinned him against the desk. “What do you want me to do?”

Harold shuddered, letting her attack him. “Whatever you wish will be more than rousing, I can assure you.” Root began to undress him from the waist down. “Don’t you think, Miss Shaw? I’d meant to approach you next, but we can do that here and now.” Harold smiled.

Sameen had chosen that moment to walk into the back area. She was reviewing some paperwork and took in the scene. Root’s face flushed, but Harold looked her square in the eye.

Sameen cocked her head to the side. “Okay,” she said, taking off her coat. “That looks like fun. And besides, we know you’re not contagious.”

Sameen was stripped down to practically nothing by the time Root had remembered to pick her jaw up off the floor. She got up on the table and pulled Root between her legs. Root didn’t question it, only searched out every request that Sameen led her to. Harold stood behind Root, enjoying the show when Sameen pulled her closer, and caressed her back and thighs.

Harold hummed, nuzzling Root’s ear. “May I, Miss Groves?” Root nodded, and Harold drew his hands around her waist. He kissed down her back, and drew his hands up between her legs. His expert fingers sent a jolt through her body and moved to collect her juices. He slicked himself up and used his other hand to insert two fingers and make sure she was ready. He groaned feeling how wet she was.

Carefully, he inserted himself into Root and she bent and arched back into him. Root was kissing Sameen’s breasts and inserting her fingers into her. Sameen was moaning over and over again. The three of them groaned in unison and Harold’s reckless laughter filled the room. “My wonderful ladies,” he grunted, “This is the most … perfect thing I could have asked for. Please, please, more.” Root and Sameen kissed passionately. They moved against each other in more deliberate motions, trying their best to really move in unison. Their new positions allowed for Harold to get a better angle on Root and it didn’t take long before they were all climaxing in shuddering sweat and release.

Harold stumbled back to allow them the room to disentangled and watched, with an occasional calming hand on their back or tweaking a breast, as they calmed down from their high.

*

Harold limped back to his bedroom and plopped down on his bed. He stripped down until he was completely naked and rolled over onto his back. His cock was half hard and clean but he still smelled like sex. He brought up his shirt to his nose and inhaled deeply.

“I can tell you’ve been busy,” John said from the doorway.

Harold looked up at him and smiled. “I didn’t think you’d mind.”

“I don’t,” he said, a rakish smile playing on his lips. “I got the news from Shaw, it looks like this was specifically intended for you. I still don’t think it’s a good thing, but if it gives you a momentary relief from the pain of your life, then I can only be happy for you.” John came to sit at the edge of his bed and stroke his hair. “But if we do not have our guilt, Finch, then who are we as people. What does it mean to do what we do? How do we know who deserves the saving?”

Harold thought about it. He wasn’t entirely sure either. “Tomorrow, I’ll work towards understanding better what they’ve done to me. And hopefully knowing who they are will help us figure out how to reverse it.” He leaned back, “But tonight, John, I want you with me.”

John nodded. He undressed and stretched while Harold watched him with hungry eyes. Again, there was that thought of true abandon. _He’s never looked at me like this before. Usually he tries to play as if it’s something that leaves him relatively unaffected._ John got into bed with him, taking up the space that was closest to the door.

Harold curled around him like a cat. He ran his cheek along his shoulder and kissed the muscles in his arm. He them draped the arm around himself and cuddled him further. He finally settled on the inner crook and looked up at him. “Are you very tired, Mr. Reese?” He said, with the pull of wicked delight. John shook his head and turned more to face him. “I’d very much like you to take me, Mr. Reese.”

John grinned from ear to ear. He slowly unhooked himself from Harold, who scooted over to lay on his back, and positioned himself between his legs. With one hand he pulled on his ever growing cock and with his other he grabbed for the lube on the bedside table. When he was smooth and ready, he moved his lubed up fingers into Harold and worked him gently. Harold made delicious noises and sighed and closed his eyes and grunted. He had already cum twice today, and John didn’t think he had another one in him, but if he wanted John inside him, John would acquiesce.

John took his time with this, as he always did, but he made sure to watch Harold closely. He seemed to be more aware and uninhibited, which John supposed was the point, but it was intoxicating being watched. John eased into Harold slowly and braced his legs on his own chest. Harold’s back made few positions truly tolerable over long stretches of time, but this one always scratched a very particular need they both had.

John stayed pressed in him for a moment, and then he bent down to kiss him as Harold moved up to meet him slightly. They kissed, lovingly and, while Harold’s tongue was still in John’s mouth, he began to pump into him. Harold gasped and tilted his head back, as John kept one hand to steady his partner and the other to touch Harold all over.

The biggest surgery scar from the spinal fusion Harold had done, was on his back. But there were other scars from the explosion, scars that you could see when anyone saw him without his shirt on. John had always loved those scars. They rivaled his own and told a very specific story about the man that Harold was. Harold always resented them, and thought of them as a reminder about how he couldn’t save his friend and what drove him in to hiding.

Now though, Harold brought John’s roaming hand to each one and have him touch them and caress them. He groaned, when John touched the one on his side. “Yes, John. Thank you,” he said. He was crying and at first John was concerned, but than he saw his smile.

“Always, Harold. Always and forever.”

Harold nodded and began to pant. John was so deep inside and stared at Harold’s new found openness like a starving man at a banquet. He moved sharply, deliberately. Or slowly and testing. Harold loved every minute of it. Finally, Harold gave him permission to take what he wanted, “I want you to find new heights John,” he said between gasps. “Ride me, Mr. Reese. Please, I need it.”

John was so close, he almost broke completely when Harold called him “Mr. Reese.” He steadied Harold’s legs and pumped harder, moving down with a little twist on the pull out and Harold went crazy, grabbing for his own cock and pumping just like John was pumping into him. John was lost, he moved faster and faster until ultimately he came hard and sharp with a keening cry.

He saved the last of his energy to remember not to fall on Harold from that height. He sat back instead, while Harold shimmied out of the way. And then he collapsed. Harold curled around him again, showering him with praise and love and kisses and talking a mile a minute about each sensation.

John tried to shush him because he didn’t have any feeling in his body yet, but Harold persisted. “What if this feeling goes away?” John looked at him and sighed, nodding. Harold continued on with his love letter about John’s body and how wonderful everything was. Eventually they drifted off to sleep, Harold draped around John, both smiling.


	2. Selfish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nanomachines have taken away Harold's sense of remorse, and the team has to figure out what that means for business.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No smut in this chapter, and I'm trying out some Angry!Harold so watch out. This get a little dark, but I promise, there's more coming!

“So,” Finch said, cutting another dainty piece of Eggs Benedict and stabbing it with his fork.  “Does this make me part machine now?  Am I a cyborg?”  He smirked at his joke and chewed slowly.

The others were scattered around the work station.  Shaw sat next to Harold, her hungry man’s breakfast platter never stood a chance.  Reese was absently cleaning his gun with a coffee and a bagel nearby and Root was standing with a bowl of cereal.  Her eyes darted to Finch, but then back to her breakfast.

“Oh, come on, this is hilarious!” 

No one else laughed.  Shaw managed a shrug.  “As far as I can tell, Harold, someone is trying to rewrite your personal DNA,” she shoved another forkful of pancakes into her mouth and spoke around them, “There are nanomachines working and replicating too fast for me to track, even days after I take your blood samples.  But it’s like they’re attuned to your specific genetic code; any time I combine your blood with ours, it’s like they just stop, almost like their …” She starred at her plate and pierced an unsuspecting piece of fruit, “full,” she said as she ate it.  “What I can’t figure out is why someone would go through the trouble of making you even more badass.”

Harold smiled at her like a puppy.  “Don’t make me regret saying it and don’t get used to me saying.  This feels just as weird as, I’m sure, it sounds,” she said.  Harold wiped his mouth and put down his utensils.  “And don’t hug me again!” she fired off, as she grabbed her plate and moved a little further away.  Harold smiled wider and picked up his fork, taking another bite. 

Shaw continued from her new perch.  “Either way, I don’t really find it funny, so much as mysterious.”

John made sure one bullet was in the chamber and holstered his weapon.  “I certainly don’t think it’s funny.”

“But you definitely think it’s fun,” Harold voice was silken, his tongue playing on his lips.

John slammed down his fist on the table.  “Damnit Harold, this isn’t a game!”  Everyone went quiet and still.  John was breathing heavily, his eyes tightly shut.

Harold became surprisingly calm.  “You’re right, of course, Mr. Reese.”  He said as his head cocked to the side.  “I suppose I should apologize, shouldn’t I?” 

Harold stood suddenly and made his way to the work station.  “I can’t.  Or rather, I won’t.  I can’t lie to you all.  I still care far too deeply for each of you, that hasn’t changed, but I can’t seem to feel any type of remorse and that’s… interesting…”  Had he meant to say disturbing?  He couldn’t bring himself to use that word either.  What he’d wanted to say was stimulating and exhilarating.  Something didn’t sit right about that, either.

He tapped away at his computer for the briefest of moments.  It soon appeared to be futile; the final aim feeling so elusive, he had no idea how to even start this kind of search.  As far as he was aware, this was unprecedented. 

He turned to face them all, a look of curious understanding.  “It’s not just my DNA, Miss Shaw.  It must be something even more elusive that’s happening in my brain.  My neural pathways are possibly being rewritten.  It’s as if I know I used to be a certain way, but I can’t even remember enough how to fake it convincingly,” his eyebrows raised and he smirked at that. 

“It appears you’ve still got a moral code, Finch.” John worked his hands, trying to calm down.  “That’s at least some good news.  You still don’t like lying, and will only do so in the most dire of circumstances.”

Harold nodded, looking at nothing as he tried to describe the feeling.  “How odd to know, with certainty, that I felt every loss so keenly before and now,” shaking his head, “I can’t even quite remember what the feeling actually feels like.” he puzzled. 

Shaw grinned.  “Welcome to the club, Finch.”

Harold scoffed.  “I don’t think –“

“Enough!”  Root said, trying to find stability in the discussion.  “I think we need to address this quickly and precisely.”  Turning to Finch, she regarded him warily.  “What if this becomes permanent, Harold?  What happens then?”

Harold blinked.  “I don’t think I know what you mean, Miss Groves.”

“I mean,” Root said, trying to keep herself calm.  “You can’t even seem to address any kind of negative complications regarding this event so what happens when you have to weigh more difficult things in the future.  What will prevent you from killing people?” 

Harold thought on that a moment.  “Self-preservation, I suppose.”  All of them looked at him in shock.  He wondered if he’d said the wrong thing.  “Although, I suppose if I had a sure-fire way of not getting caught…” If there was more, Harold couldn’t say it.  For the first time, he felt truly scared. 

This felt so very wrong, with every fiber of his being, he knew he was ludicrously out of line.  But, no matter how hard he tried to care about that fact, it still only registered as a glitch, something that maybe couldn’t be helped.  He couldn’t seem to understand what he should be saying or feeling instead.  He just knew this wasn’t it. 

They were right to be cautious.  He hadn’t thought of the implications. 

Root noted the change in his posture as the reality of the situation appeared to be dawning on him, and came to his side, holding his hands gently.  “You are the moral center of our little band of vigilantes.  You are our heart.  It’s all fun and games now because your heart, which has been heavy for so long, Harold, is finally feeling a respite.  I am happy for you, but we need to consider what happens when all of this warmth turns cold.”

Harold was crying now, in earnest.  “And do you know the worst part, Miss Groves.”  He said, quietly, meeting her gaze.  “Even now, I’m only concerned with myself or all of you.  Not the victim, whoever they would be.  But you’re right, there would be a victim.  And from there, another, and another.”

“It’s not too late, Harold.” Reese said, his voice soft and standing a little taller.  “Not yet, at least.  We just need to understand this better so we can counteract the effects.”

Harold flinched.  While he could see that this wasn’t him, he also had a very strong impulse to never feel like his old self again.  He felt free for the very first time, like he’d been kept in a cage, but now the cage had disappeared completely, and he could fly anywhere. 

This was a life borrowed and he would have to give it back.  He pulled his hands from Root’s grasp, put them to his face and wept.  John made a move towards him and Root tried to touch him again, but Harold pushed his chair out of reach.  Slowly he pulled it back to the work station.  He shook a little with sobs, but the others couldn’t hear him crying.  Only when he decided to speak, and his voice was raspy and broken, did they understand the depth of his pain. 

“Regardless of my current state,” he said, clearing his throat, “This is where I belong.  I wish you all to act according to my wishes when I… recruited you to this cause in the first place, and know that I trust you will…” he swallowed, “Do the right thing, no matter what callousness I might… suggest.”

His hands flew into a typing frenzy as he brought up codes and logarithms, adjusting little things here and there.  The others looked at one another and then the pay phone rang.  John went to answer it, and their day truly began.

*

Though life in the Terminal had always been cramped, it had never felt claustrophobic before. 

Harold’s little collection of precious individuals were suddenly distrustful of him, and everyone knew it.  It was a hard pill to swallow, and only made more difficult when all of them were tasked with finding out how to reverse the best thing that had ever happened to him. 

Harold couldn’t help but feel the others watching him.  He tried not to be suspicious, but told himself it was a normal reaction.  There’d be something wrong if he didn’t feel this way.  He assumed they had his best interests at heart. 

He didn’t want to lose a single person in his life, not again, but the work they did was dangerous, and he had to think about this logically.  If he was putting them in danger, the right answer was to remove him from the equation.  He knew they were talking about him, about the game plan now.  If there even was one.  He was the reason they were all here.  Would they just disband and figure it out later on?  They could all get very hurt if that happened.  He shuddered at the thought. 

But if his moral center was compromised, if he was doing something wrong, he could, at the very least, trust his compatriots to steer him in a better direction… Or he could choose to leave himself.

Without meaning to, he could feel the seed of resentment being planted and tried his best to ignore it.  But it was during this time that he began to wonder if this was how his early attempts at artificial intelligence felt.  They had no moral code.  All they’d wanted to do was survive, but they had no one like themselves to help show them right from wrong… That is, except Harold, and no matter how many times John assured him he was wrong, he felt his moral compass was completely shattered. 

He had Reese and Root to help show him better ways, but the euphoria of just taking what he wanted was so very enticing, and of course, the fallout of denying that pleasure was all the more damaging. 

It was in this way, that he began to grow more and more elusive.  If he wasn’t at the desk, plodding out code, and only very minimally helping with missions, he was lying in bed.  His purpose was dwindling, and he didn’t like it.  He had become a stronger asset, but underused, and at what cost.

*

John did his best to coax him out of bed at every turn.  Today was the same as the last three.

“I’m taking bear for a walk, Harold, would you like to join us?  It’s a sunny day, a rare city in New York.” 

Harold shook his head, his nose still buried in a book. 

“Come on, Finch, what’s wrong?”

Harold’s eyes were daggers as he looked up at John.  “What’s – Wrong?”  He said, in a clipped tone.

John regretted the question, but he kept pressing.  “It’s not the end of the world, Finch.”

Harold closed his book and slammed it hard on the table.  “Isn’t it?” he said quietly, letting the rage boil over.  “I’m a danger to everyone here, Mr. Reese.  By all rights, I’m surprised my number hasn’t come up, since I could potentially be the most vial person in this motley crew.”

John sighed.  “I won’t let that happen, Harold, don’t you understand that?  This isn’t about getting rid of who you are, this is about getting you back!”

“Oh, really!” Harold said, finally shouting, the sarcasm thick.  He stood up.  “Well, I suppose I should just take on the mantle of burden again with ease and grace.  Allow everyone to continue to walk all over me.  Because, let’s face it, poor Harold deserves it!”  He was spitting into Johns face.  He couldn’t even muster guilt or an apology, he _liked_ it.  He wanted the confrontation, he wanted to be met head on.  “Face it, Mr. Reese, this new Harold, he’s a little more than unhinged!”

Reese’s teeth gritted.  “Harold, that’s not what we’re talking about.”

Harold scoffed; what John had cherished as his precious musical laughter became hard and cold.  “No, you’re all trying to find ways to make me better when I have never felt this good!” 

Harold shoved Reese and pushed him against the wall.  John had never felt the full brunt of Harold’s strength before and, if he was being honest, hadn’t really never expected to know what that felt like. 

John regarded Harold, intensely.  Even now, he didn’t want to hurt John.  He was frustrated, sure, but it was more than that.  John got the distinct impression Harold wanted to pick a fight so that it would make it easier for them to get rid of him.  As soon as the thought was processed he knew it to be true.  Harold had already “decided” the best course of action was to leave, but he didn’t want to do that either. 

John needed to change tactics.  He did his best not to react.  Instead, he let all the emotion drain from his face, like when he was lining up a kill in his old job for the CIA.  “Harold,” he said, in his best monotone.  “What is going through your mind… right now…”

Harold seethed.  His face was so close to John.  “What?” His whole body shook with rage.

“This is part of it.  You need to talk about it.  About everything.”  John stood his ground, prepared to take anything that Harold could dish out.

“Therapy?”  Harold laughed but it was getting harsher, and he was still shaking.  “This is your plan?  Is this what you all have spent the weeks whispering about?”  Harold moved away from him and put his hands on his hips.

John shrugged.  He trusted Harold, eternally, and knew he was never in any real danger with him, and he let that fact show in his unrelenting face.  Harold still had a moral code, it was just a little cloudier than usual, and John wanted to tap into it and learn how it had changed.

“We were whispering?”

“Yes, the lot of you.”  Harold worried his hands, but John could see he was thinking it through, trying to see if it would work.  He may not have remorse, but he was still able to figure out the best course of action in a straight line.

“Harold, what if we could access the things that bothered you before, what would happen?”

He blinked, the anger almost entirely gone.  “I don’t know Mr. Reese.”  Harold sat at the edge of his bed.  “I’m not sure I’d know where to begin.  I have nightmares sometimes.” 

John latched onto that quickly.  “Did you tell Shaw?”

Harold looked at him, the anger coming back.  “I’m a very. Private. Person. Mr. Reese.” He said, through gritted teeth. 

“But Finch, you hid behind that moniker when you had so much shame.  You were ashamed of all the terrible things you’d done, and you wanted to bear that burden on your own.  Well, guess what, you don’t have to do that anymore!  You have friends who will help you get through it and can shoulder your burdens with you.  So that, just maybe, when those nanomachines stop working, and your emotions are back to normal, you can still live without all of that guilt and blame.”  John was watching him carefully.  This was a long shot, considering the freedoms that Harold had enjoyed with these creatures in his body, John was sure it would be an uphill battle, but if he could convince Harold he still had hope, maybe Harold would try.


	3. Sparring Partner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harold agrees to get some help, and Shaw has interesting ways of helping him out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your patience, this chapter was a little more sluggish than the last two! Hope you enjoy it, I'm thinking another two chapters to come~

Harold was quiet and still for so long that John wasn’t sure he was still conscious. 

John didn’t fully understand the nanomachines and their purpose, none of them did.  He debated with himself about what he could be doing right now to get Harold to listen.  He could restrain him. He could pull him into the other room and force the issue with Root and Shaw to back him up.  He didn't like the idea, but if it came down to brute force, Harold would understand... eventually…

John decided to wait him out instead. 

Finch did, finally, break the silence, starring at the floor and said quietly, “We can try that.”

John heaved a sigh.  “Thank you, Harold, and I hope you know that we would never abandon you to this thing.”

Harold nodded, absently, the rage finally draining from him.

John clenched his jaw and walked over to the bed.  He wasn’t sure what he wanted to say.  Something to inspire him, maybe?  Harold had always been the one that was giving hope speeches.  John just felt lost.  If Harold had lost hope… But he wouldn’t let himself believe that.

John reached out for his hand, but Harold pulled away.  “Bear will be wanting that walk, Mr. Reese.” Harold picked up his book and went back to reading.  

John’s breath hitched.  Just as happy as he was for Harold’s new found abandon, he was sad and lonely with his unadulterated spite.  “I’ll send Shaw in later,” John frowned and left Harold alone in his room.

*

Shaw was carrying two batons when she finally showed up. She knocked briefly and then herself in.  "Miss Shaw, always a pleasure. I suppose you've come to talk.'" Harold said, his back to her as he was stretching slowly. 

"No talking today." She said, moving around him to examine his form. "That's pretty good, can you get lower?"

“Are you trying to ascertain if the Nanomachines have fixed my spine?” He said, through gritted teeth.  She repeated the question a little less patiently.  Harold breathed deeply and shut his eyes.  He slowly pushed the stretch farther and found he could, comfortably, get another two inches if he breathed through it.

"Well done, Harold,” she said, as he became upright again.  “If you keep that up you might get more mobility back." Shaw showed him another stretch. He mirrored her well, and she couldn’t help but raise her eyebrow when she caught him starring at her breasts.  He smiled back, playfully, and then winced, straightening up and massaging his back. 

Shaw was suddenly there, pushing gently along his scar and moved her hands over the worst of the pain. 

Harold cringed, and almost moved away from her, but soon felt the muscles relax.  “How do you do that?” Finch said, hearing his own voice take on a wistful tone.

It was almost like she had a map of his pain and was travelling the roads and rivers to relieve it.  He grunted, and breathed harder.  Too soon, she was back in front of him, but at least the pain was less.  She shrugged, and before he could ask her more questions, she repeated the pose and nodded for him to try again.

It was still hard, but he found it was doable for short bursts.

"This one is one of my favorites," she said, adjusting his stance carefully. "Feel it in there?” she said, lightly touching his upper arms.  Harold shifted a little and nodded, exhaling.  “It keeps you limber."

Harold sucked in a breath and tried not to laugh. "I've never thought of myself as limber," he grunted. "Even before."

"You never talk about the accident Harold," she said, pushing gently on his free arm to give him another level of stretch.

Harold stood out her grasp and straightened slowly, with a smug look on his face.  “I thought we weren’t going to talk, Sameen.”  He said.  Shaw wasn’t sure, but he almost sounded hurt.  “If that’s all for today,” he said, turning to move back to his bed.

“That’s not what I—” Shaw stopped herself.  She shook her head and lumbered over to him, picking up the batons as she moved.  “I thought we could learn a little self-defense today.”  She said, placing one of the weapons in Harold’s hand. 

Harold examined it.  The baton was smallish and lighter that he expected, he raised his eyebrows at her, indicating she continue. 

She couldn’t help but smile.  Harold would have given her five different excuses as to why this was not the time, _nor had he the inclination to learn such violence_.  “It won’t be too heavy for you to carry and it will only be of real use in short range hand-to-hand combat, which will save as much of your energy for fighting as possible.  I had it specially calibrated for you.”  She left it at that, since there was no need to dwell on his injury.  They both knew he was crippled, why keep talking about it.

Harold tested the thing in his hands.  He held in a couple of different ways and then seemed to straighten up taller.  “Ok, show me,” he said, his eyes narrowed and he planted his feet.

*

Harold yielded for the fourth time when Sameen suggested they take a break. 

“This isn’t working, I’m not cut out for this.”  He said, panting.

“Nonsense, Finch.”  She said, getting him a glass of water.  “It takes years of practice to get really good at this kind of stuff, and you’ve…” she stopped herself again. 

Sameen was rarely uncomfortable in her own skin.  To the untrained eye, it would be easily missed.  But he had spent quite a lot of time with her by this point, and had grown fond, so when her veneer cracked, just a little, he saw it.  She sighed.  “Harold, sometimes I wish I knew more about you.” 

Even knowing her this well, didn’t tell him what was wrong.  Perplexed, unable to see what she was getting at, but not wanting to ask, he opted for his generic answer.  “I promise you, Miss Shaw, if I’m not telling you something, I have my reasons.” 

He sniffed, and placed the water glass on the desk before taking up his stance.  “Again,” he said, watching her closely.  “A little slower this time, I need to calculate the movements and then we can speed up.  It’s not like I’ll need these skills immediately, anyway.”

Sameen nodded and moved forward, cautiously.  The likelihood that Harold _would_ be in a real fight very soon scared her, but she’d never reveal that to anyone. 

Harold’s most obvious physical weaknesses were his bad leg and arm.  If he was in a real fight, with people who knew what they were doing, they’d spot this on him a mile away.  _They will try to keep you off balance, so you need to learn to compensate.  Lean into the attack, like boxing_ , she’d told him.  _That might help trip them up more than you._

She walked around him a little, forcing him to keep moving and keep eye contact on her.  It also forced his limp to show so he was at his most vulnerable and exposed.  She feinted, slowly, and he followed her well, his instincts coming more into focus.  She struck him at 80% her normal speed and he blocked it.  “Good,” she said. 

He attempted to strike her, but she moved out of the way too quickly.  His jaw clenched.  “Don’t focus on the misses, Harold.  If you’re thinking about that too much,” she threw a combination at him, and even at the slower speed, he didn’t block all of assaults, “You can’t see the next attack coming.” 

Harold made a face and struck again, catching the edge of her elbow.  She countered his second attack, but he surprised her and moved in closer to get a better strike at her side.  She grinned, but it was short lived, as he tried to push at her and shove her away.  She caught his hands.  “Faster doesn’t always mean better,” she said, managing to slip out of his grasp and he over balanced, crashing into the wall.  She struck his shoulder lightly.  “And you’re knocked out.”  She said, panting a little.

Harold leaned against the wall and smacked it with his open hand to indicate he was yielding for the fifth time, if a little harder than he needed to this time.

“You ok in there?” Root called out.

“Just fine,” Harold said, trying to straighten up and wincing from the last bout.

Shaw came over to him and massaged his shoulders.  “I don’t expect you to get this in one afternoon.  You’re pushing too hard.”

“I have to make myself useful somehow, Miss Shaw.  This is as good a task as any,” he moved away, circling her this time.  “Besides, I have to keep busy.  Otherwise…” he trailed off, not wanting to think about the ever-present possibility that he might need to leave soon.  Instead he charged her.  She blithely step to the side, but not before he flanked her, catching one of her arms and spun her around for a minor wrist hold. 

“I didn’t teach you that,” She said, sounded impressed.

“I wasn’t born in a computer server, Sameen.” He said, coming in close to her ear and whispering intimately.

She easily escaped the grip of course.  He wasn’t trying very hard but she also wasn’t the run of-the-mill wallet thief he’d specifically used that technique on either.  He chuckled to himself.  “One more go?”

Shaw gave him another bout, but it didn’t last very long.  He did manage to land a few more blows though, and for that, Shaw thought it best to reward him. 

She brought him to her room and told him to lay down on her bed, however he was comfortable.  Finch eyed her curiously, but did as he was bade.  He half laid on his side with a couple of pillow propped to help keep him up.  She went over to her makeshift dresser, which was mostly filled with weapons, and shifted through various items.  She let out a satisfied little _ha_ when she found what she was looking for, and turned around to face him.

“Massage oil,” Shaw said, indicating the bottle.  “This stuff is amazing.”

“Miss Shaw, I don’t know if that’s necessary,” he said.  He wasn’t embarrassed exactly, but he was suddenly defensive and he wasn’t sure why.  John had seen his scars, intimately.  Root had to have seen them too.  Shaw must have when she dressed his occasional wound, so it can’t have been that.  But something in him didn’t want this.

“Why not?”

“I… don’t want to be judged,” He said, not entirely sure why he’d said it.

Shaw cocked her head to the side and walked slowly towards him, palms out to show there was nothing malicious.  “I’m not here to judge, Harold.  Only to make you feel better.”

Harold seemed to be looking passed her to something else in his mind’s eye.  Sameen sighed, and knelt by her bed.  “You can do me first if you like?”

Harold’s eyes were suddenly back on Shaw’s face. 

“Look Finch,” she said, taking on the straight forward tone that he’d always admired.  “You haven’t moved that much in… What appears to be a very long time.  We twisted your body in ways today that won’t be easily masked with pain killers.  If your back isn’t already aching, it will be soon.  I just want to make sure you feel better sooner, honest.”

She was taking off her shirt and Harold felt his face go slack as he watched her.  “Oh, wow,” he moaned, looking at her perfect breasts and watching them bounce gently out of her top.  He was tugging on his t-shirt, and he laughed when he realized he was doing was trying to unbutton it.  “You, specifically, Miss Shaw, do something to me that is altogether quite singular.”

Shaw smirked at him and handed him the oil.  She propped herself up on the edge of the bed and let him massage her chest and arms and back.  She was moaning and telling him just where to go.  It was magnificent.

“Now you, ok?” Shaw said, pouring the oil onto her own hands.  She moved with that expert way over his skin and he groaned deeply.  When she got to the knots in his back, he let out a sharp yelp, and clutched the bed.  She shushed him gently, and eased off a bit.  “Too much?”

“I’m not sure.  It’s not… just muscle…”

“Nerve damage,” she filled in.  He nodded, gasping a little for air.  “Carefully then,” she said, as she gently moved her hand over and over his scars and all over his back.  The oil was warm now, heated by her movements and the hot intense sparring match they’d had, and he groaned with every pass she made. 

“You can press a little harder than that,” he finally said, adjusting his position to give her better access to his back.  She gave a huff and pressed more purposefully and Harold melted onto her bed. 

“That’s it,” she said, guiding him through the worst of it.  Soon the pain was almost completely gone, but he dare not tell her to stop.  No one had touched him like this since the surgery, and even before that, he’s always felt self-conscious about people touching him when he couldn’t see them.  He was the one who saw everything coming, it was unfair for something else to sneak up on him instead.

Sameen worked his back over and over, until he was giddy and laughing with every touch.  “That’s amazing, Sameen.  I feel… so much better, thank you!”  He was a limp mess, but she reminded him that he also needed to take a hot shower to still relax those muscle.  He drowsily got up off of her bed and made his way there, stripping more easily than he’d done in a long time. 

*

They’d spared every day that week.  Harold felt like he was at least doing something with his time, and he was informing John of his progress every night.  John thought it was going well, but he still didn’t like how distant Harold still seemed.  So he did something without telling Finch…

*

“So, tell me about the nightmares.”  Shaw said.  She smirked at Harold, leaning forward and eyeing him like a specimen.  She was sitting at the work station, peripherally watching the monitors, while he was in an armchair nearby.  “Are they about a place?”

Harold was massaging his temples.  “John told you.”

Sameen blinked at him, “Yes.”

Harold sighed and leaned back.  “I don’t want to talk about them.”

“Why?”

Harold made to stand up.  “Because I don’t.  If there’s nothing further –“

Shaw was suddenly standing up and blocking Harold’s path.  “Sit!”  He did so immediately.  “Thank you.”  Shaw went back to her chair.  “You might as well tell me, Finch.  You’re not going anywhere until you do.”

Harold eyed her.  “You can’t keep me here.”  Even as he said it, he knew it to be a lie.  He’d been getting better at their sparring matches, but he hadn’t asked her to come at him, full tilt yet, because he knew his own strength wasn’t enough to take her. 

The other fact that Shaw was more capable that anyone else to make him talk at the moment played a larger factor, simply because of who she was.  She smiled at him sweetly and went back to watching the monitors.

The minutes turned into an hour of silence between them.  Root and John were out saving a number and there was literally nothing else to do.  Bear sauntered over to Harold and put his chin on Harold’s thigh.  Harold couldn’t help but smile at him and smoosh his face.  “Who’s a good boy, Bear?”  Bear yipped and circled around his legs before plopping down at his feet.  Harold smiled, still scratching his head and looked up at Shaw before he remembered he was supposed to be mad.  He sighed, still smiling.  “OK, let’s talk about the nightmares.”  Shaw moved the chair back and leaned forward.  “I’m usually alone at the beginning of them, wandering around.”

“Are you in a particular place?”

“It changes.  Almost always it’s somewhere familiar … by the water … sometimes I’m in an office building.”  Harold fidgeted and began to frown. 

“Any details you can remember about your surroundings?”  Harold sighed loudly.  “This is all scientific, Harold.”  Shaw cocked her head to the side.  “Anything you can remember,” she pressed.

Harold looked in agony.  “I’m not sure.  It changes all the time.”  Harold closed his eyes and really tried to think.  “There’s usually a chair, which I eventually sit down in.  Sometimes it’s a computer desk, usually unfamiliar, but there’s a laptop or a screen.  I’ll try to log in, but I’m blocked.”  His eyes were tightly shut and then finally he gasped, frustrated.  “It’s no use, Miss Shaw, I can’t remember.”  He leaned down to scratch at Bear’s head again, trying to relax.  

Shaw got up from her desk.  Bear huffed and walked away to his food dish.  Harold’s eyes widened as she came closer to him.  She undid her ponytail and let it fall, and gingerly took off his glasses. 

“Now Harold,” she said, towering over him with a grin of delight.  “I want you to think back, as if you’re walking in these dreams and tell me as much as you can.  Whatever comes to mind.”  She placed his glasses carefully on a nearby table, and then straddled Finch’s legs.

Shaw kissed him, on the mouth, gently at first, letting her hips grind down on top of him, carefully, not letting all her weight rest at once. 

Harold whimpered at the touch and reached out to clutch her nearer.  She moved expertly against him and he sighed and panted.  She ran her hands through his hair, holding him strong and close.  His spine was surprisingly ok in this position, and he wasn’t going to squander the chance to indulge in this moment.

His hands went to her face first, stroking her cheek, and then traveled to her shoulders and her back.  He was distantly aware that she was undressing him, loosening his shirt and then his vest.  She pressed harder before breaking off the kiss and fluidly hopped off to kneel before him. 

She undid his trousers and he dreamily helped her to take off his pants.  She pressed her face into his stomach, as she freed him from his garments and took him in hand, locking eyes with him before saying, “Come on Harold, don’t think, just talk.”

Harold’s head fell back as he could feel Sameen’s warm tongue on his stiffening cock.  He clenched her shoulders, unsure what to do with his hands, before he finally gripped the arms of the chair in a frenzy.  She licked him and gently took him into her mouth, before letting him slip out and said, breathily against his head, “Talk,” and then repeated the gesture. 

Harold’s mind was a mess, all sensation and zero coherent thought.  “I.. often smell burning… like papers or carpets on fire… acrid smoke…” he said, gasping and trying to think clearly. 

Shaw was undressing herself as she worked between his legs.  Harold was vaguely aware of how skilled she was at multitasking and then she swirled her tongue around him and he nearly blacked out.  “Sameen!” He managed, between pants. 

“Harold, your dreams,” she said, throwing off her shirt and somehow managing to undo her own pants and squirm out of them.

“I can’t think,” Harold said, whimpering.

“That’s the point,” she said, grabbing him hard and yanking his cock forward.  He instinctively leaned, his eyes wide.  “Don’t.  Think.”  She stood up and straddled him again.  She was completely naked and he starred at her smiling and grabbing at her hips to help steady her.  She lowered herself on top of him and they both gasped.  Shaw threw her head back, staying filled with him and allowing a momentary thrill of his thickness inside her. 

She then began to move.  Harold keened, and cursed, and shuddered.  “Look at me, Finch.”  He snapped to attention and locked eyes with her.  “What else happened,” and she began to rock her hips slowly.

Harold clenched them, whimpering.  “Storms.  Bad weather.  Explosions.” He said, feeling hot and cold and dreamy and focused all at once.  “Sometimes I’m yelling at someone,” his breath hitched as she settled further onto his cock.

“Who are you yelling at, Harold?” Sameen leaned forward, still slowly moving him in and out, and nibbled his ear.  “Tell me, it’s going to be alright,” and she kissed his neck.

Harold pushed forward, wanting to be yet further inside her, even though she was full to the hilt.  He groped helplessly at her back.  “Myself,” he shuddered.  “It’s me.  But I always just smile and slam a door shut.”  He kissed her chest, and licked at her breasts.  He was panting and having trouble speaking, but somehow he found words.  The sensations made everything else fade to grey.  “Two slabs next to each other.  Me and Nathan.  He’s yelling at me.”  Harold groaned louder as Sameen picked up the pace.  “I’m still shouting about being too trusting of my creation.  It’s the one doing the dirty work.  I just wanted to live my life.”  He was groaning and somewhere in the distance thought he was crying, or laughing, but it didn’t matter, and it was all fine.  “I’m covered in blood, I’m swimming in it.  I drown.  I drop like a stone and I drown.” 

“That’s it, Harold,” Sameen used her strength to push Harold back into the chair and moved forward with him, letting her breasts move in front of his face in easy sucking distance.  She was moving faster and faster, and he was gasping and licking and letting her take him and it was delicious.  “Anything else?”

Harold pulled her hair and snarled, “Shut up, and ride me.” 

Shaw gave him a low-pitched laughed and kissed him.  Just when he thought he couldn’t hold out anymore, she began to spasm and broke the kiss, coming hard, moving with lightning speed on top of him.  He guided her through it and clenched her hips harder, his hand between them to tweak her clit so she was still spasming as he came too, riding the wake of her bliss.  They both seemed to become puddles of human beings, one big drenched mess of appendages, gasping for air. 

Harold was laughing, giddy with true delight for the first time in a long time.  Shaw was smiling and giving a breathy chuckle, as she reluctantly moved off of him.  She stood, a little wobbly but she recovered.  “Good session, Finch.”  She picked up her clothes and walked away to shower. 

Harold was a mess, but kept laughing and started to put himself back together.  That release – the “chat” they’d just had, and the physical work outs – were most definitely exactly what he needed.  He grabbed for his glasses and shakily put them back on.  He took a few deep breaths and manned the work station in Sameen’s absence while he put his suit back on.

*

John and Root returned to the subway a little while later, Harold was almost cheery in demeanor and made each of them a cup of coffee, taking his own Sencha Green Tea last. 

“I don’t want the way I’ve been acting to impede our friendships,” he said. “Please be patient with me.”

Shaw came up next to him and slung an arm around his shoulder.  “Therapy is going well,” she said to the others, but she nuzzled Harold’s ear. 

John let a throaty laugh and Root’s mouth quirked.  “I’m glad he’s finally accepting our help,” she said, slapping Sameen on the ass as she passed by. 


	4. Feral Harold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harold reveals more than the Nanomachines want him to so they fight back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... Um... This happened...

Shaw and Finch were laying naked in his bed.  He was staring at her, wide eyed and blissful, and she was gently tracing one of the scars on his side.  “I want to talk about your accident Harold.”

He stiffened.

“If you were only feeling guilty about it, you’d have talked about it by now.”

He let out a huff, and picked up her hand to remove it from his body. 

She frowned.  “There’s more in there.  You seem angry about something.” 

He turned over, facing away from her and pulled at his pillow as if he was going to sleep.

“You’ll have to talk about it eventually.”

“Why?” he said, half muffled in his pillow.

John was leaning on the door with Root peering in behind him.  “Because it’s eating away at you,” John said, slowly coming into the room.  “It was before all of this happened, but it seemed to hurt you more to talk about it, so we left it alone.”

Harold let out an exasperated sigh.  “I don’t _want_ to talk about it,” he said, getting up and limping over to his dresser.  He was hastily putting on clothing in an attempt to get them to drop the subject.

John gently reached out and touched Harold’s shoulder.  “We’re not going to judge you, Harold.”

The smaller man froze.  “Sameen!” he howled, skittering as fast as he could away from everyone in the room, turning around to keep them in his sights.  His eyes darted to the three of them but his words were for Shaw.  “How could you?”

Shaw swallowed.  “We all want to help you, Harold.”

“It’s not her fault Harold,” Root said, coming protectively in front of Shaw.  “It’s not anyone’s fault, that’s the whole point.”

“But it _is my fault_ ,” Harold screamed, making a break for the door.  “You all think you’ve done terrible things?  Well, I’m the one who _built it,_ I’m the one who is responsible for all of your confirmed kills.”

“Not mine,” Root said, controlling her voice to be as calm as possible.

“You didn’t send us out on those missions Harold, and don’t forget, we did those terrible things to save yet more people.” Shaw said, still lying on the bed.

John was slowly advancing towards him but Harold took on his sparring stance and shook his head.  “You need to leave me alone, all of you!”  Harold moved as quickly as he could out of the room and away from his friends.  He somehow managed to evade their grasping hands as they chased after him, shouting for him to come back, that it would all be ok. 

He ran up the stairs as quick as he could muster.  He limped through the door on the ground level and slammed it shut behind him.  He let his forehead rest against it and wheezed as he caught his breath.  He walked briskly down the block and made to turn a corner, when he bumped into a man in a suit. 

He was staring … at himself.  This Harold had on a green and purple plaid three piece and was glaring at him.  “I think you and I need to have a little chat,” the other Harold said.

“I’m dreaming, that’s convenient.” Harold said, shaking his head and wincing.  “Just leave me alone.”  He tried to walked past him, but it was a dream after all, and anywhere he looked, the other Harold was there.

“I can’t, Harold, you keep doing this.  You keep giving yourself nightmares.”  The other Harold reached out to him and touched his cheek, sympathetically.  “I can’t imagine why you torture yourself; don’t you _want_ to be happy?  I just wanted to give you a gift.”

Harold glowered.  “Who are you?”

The other Harold grinned, and replied in a sing song voice.  “I thought you would have known by now.”

Harold moved back from him, horrified.  “The Nanomachines.  You are the ones that did this to me.  Why are _you_ here, in my dreams… looking like _that_?”  Harold looked “himself” up and down.  It was a perfect copy, though his face was less tight and more easily genteel than Harold, which was saying something.  He also walked with a fine high-end cane, and Harold noticed before that this Harold didn’t have such a pronounced limp.  The grin was perfect too. 

“Why?”

“It’s a gift,” was all the other Harold would say.  “Don’t you like it?”

Harold turned and tried to run but slipped and fell into a puddle.  The puddle was warm and wet, but was dragging him down into someplace dark.  “Help!”  He tried to scream, but it was no use, he could smell the copper and iron and he knew this wasn’t water.  He screamed again, “ _Help!_ ”

Harold woke up, shaking, in his bedroom.  He tried to sit up, but John’s arm was draped over his chest, making movement difficult.  It took a moment to remember where he was. 

Everywhere he’d previously lived, even the library, always had sunlight streaming in the mornings.  Though spending most of his time living in the subway had its own charms, he didn’t enjoy being without sunlight.  He groaned, letting himself fall back onto his pillow. 

John stirred briefly in his sleep.  Harold fidgeted and eventually leaned in to him, sniffling and struggling not to weep.  Absently, he grabbed for small notebook by the bed and quickly scribbled down some notes.  _Judgment.  Other me.  Gift / The Nanomachines.  It’s still all my fault._ The last one he almost scribbled out, but his anger flared and, instead, he underlined it.

“Harold?” John said, drowsily.  Harold had just enough time to toss the book onto his nightstand before he let John cuddle him closer.  “You alright?”

“Always, Mr. Reese.” Harold said playfully and kissed John on the cheek.

John chuckled.  “Bad dreams?”

“Perhaps.”

John lifted his head a little.  “Want to talk about it?”

“Not really.”

John was tense for a moment, but instead of pushing the issue, pulled Harold closer, spooning him and rubbing his soft bristly cheeks over Harold’s neck.  Harold’s breath hitched and he melted into the touch. 

“I love you, Harold.”

Finch’s eyes shot open.  John had never said that.  Not those words.  What did _that_ mean?  He knew, of course, that John loved him.  But why say those words now?  Did he like him better this way?  Did he not love him as strongly before?

John could sense a change as soon as he’d said it and could only guess what Harold was thinking.  “I’ve always felt that way, from the day you saved my life.”  He dug his chin playfully into Harold’s shoulder.  “You do know that, don’t you?”

Harold let out a shuddering breath.  “Of course I do, John.”  He took another coupled of breaths.  “I… I am overly fond of you as well,” he said, shifting to get closer to him in the bed. 

John chuckled and kissed his neck. 

“Good night,” he said.

John sighed and also said goodnight, but Finch wouldn’t be falling asleep for a while yet.

*

“What?” Harold said, limping more that usual into the makeshift kitchen, as Root was watching him.  She handed him his teacup, already filled and sweetened the way he liked it, and raised an eyebrow.  Harold’s mouth got tight.  “Thank you.”

“Rough night, Harry?” Root said.  She took in his crumpled clothing and his pillow creased face.

“More nightmares,” he mumbled.  Everyone knew about them by this point.  There was literally no reason to hide them anymore. 

“Want to –“

“No,” he said, softly but conclusively.  He didn’t have to reveal more than that.  It was agony to discuss them, unless Sameen was creating a large enough distraction, so why go through the pain.

Root nodded and brought her mug and a second one, Harold assumed for Shaw, into her bedroom.  John came into the room following Harold and smiled at him sleepily.  Harold returned with a tight little grin.

“So, we managed to come up with some new intel about your… predicament,” John said, pouring himself some coffee.  Harold bristled.  “I think this one requires your immediate personal assistance, Harold.”

John heard the clang of the spoon in the teacup as Harold nearly dropped the whole thing.  “Are you sure?”

John nodded, still not turning around.  He didn’t want to see the look of unbridled suspicion on Harold’s face, he already knew it would be there.  “There’s a woman named Hanna Nise.  She’s a Japanese-American scientist, currently living in Chinatown.  She’s a computer whiz according to Root, which I suppose says a lot, but her main focus is in the Nanomachine arena.  She’s a part of a team that’s been working solely on that for the last five years and, just recently, she took her whole team out on a very expensive celebratory dinner.

“What do you think?”  He said, finally turning around. 

Harold was smiling from ear to ear.  “I think I would very much like to meet Hanna.”  He hastily finished his tea and went to take a shower.

*

The hot water felt so good on his skin.  He was smiling and laughing, feeling the best he’d felt since that first day with the Nanomachines. 

There was a knock on the bathroom door.  “Come in,” he said, the water still rushing down on him.

“Finch, I hear you’re heading out on a lead!” Sameen said, coming into the room and shutting the door quickly.

“I am, Miss Shaw, I’m so glad to finally have something else to do.”  He was lathering up as the hot water pounded his back.

“Good, good,” she said.  “I don’t know how long you’ll be gone, I thought we could have a session while you get ready.  Sound good?”  She moved a hand into the shower to touch his chest briefly. 

He gasped, his breath hitching, and felt the pit of his stomach drop.  “You’re the doctor,” he said, quivering in anticipation. 

Her hand roamed his chest, and moved the lathery soap smoothly.  He leaned against the wall of the shower and muffled a groan into his arm, he turned into the spray and she turned with him.  “You had another nightmare,” she said, moving the soap along one arm and then the other. 

“Yes,” he said, gritting his teeth and trying not to let the anger well up.  “This one was worse than the last.”

The hand stopped and went away momentarily.  There was some scuffling and Harold was suddenly whimpering.  “The wait is deliciously unbearable,” he whined. 

Suddenly, Sameen pulled back the shower curtain, and revealed her completely naked form.  Harold only had a moment to drink her in, before she deftly stepped into the shower with him and put the curtain back into place.  “Hi,” she said, coming up behind him and kissing his shoulder.

He pushed back into her, trying to mold their bodies into one as much as he could.  She caressed him and brought her arms around him, still moving the lathered soap and adding more as her hands moved downward.  “Tell me about your dream,” she said, finally touching his cock and letting him rock forward with a breathy cry.

“All of you were… trying to help me…” he said, feeling strangely vulnerable, but having no real idea what that meant.  “Trying to get me to talk about... Something…”  Sameen gently pumped her hand and he sighed, now bracing both hands on the wall in front of him and letting the water run over his back and between them.

“About what?”  Harold gritted his teeth and slammed his hand on the wall.  “Harold?”  She squeezed him and jerked her hand a little too quickly, and he melted again.  “I can only help you so far as you’re willing to talk to me.” 

She trailed her other hand over his back, moving the water around his scars tenderly.  Harold was shaking his head and whimpering.  “Ok, alright, you don’t have to say.” 

She dug her thumb deeply into the small of his back, over a particularly sensitively tight muscle and Harold let out a relieved shout.  “Better?”  He nodded.  “So, what did you do when we asked you to talk?”

Harold’s breath stopped as Sameen’s hand resumed pumping his cock.  “Oh god,” he said, the shower felt like it was getting hotter, but he was sure it was his imagination.  He moved his hips in time with her hand, gasping already.  “I ran away.  From all of you.” He said, trying to swallow his words.  It was as if his physical body did not want him to reveal these secrets, but he knew this was how he would get better, be a more intricate part of the team.  “I ran into myself instead, literally.”

“The other you?” Sameen asked, caressing his ass and gently giving it a tight squeeze.

Harold grunted and moved against her hands, feeling elated and frustrated all at once.  “Yes, he was… very talkative this time.”  Harold moved against Shaw’s hand with more gusto, snapping his hips. 

She moved her hand a little further out to give him a challenge and couldn’t help chuckling at him.  “That’s it, pace yourself.”  He moved fluidly, enjoying every stroke.  “What did he say?” 

Harold focused on the sensations as something deep inside him started screaming, _you can’t tell her, that’s not playing fair_.  “He’s the Nanomachines,” he said, feeling a rush of a strange euphoria.  “He’s the one that’s making me this way.  And he doesn’t know why I won’t accept his gift.”  The euphoria was sickening, almost to the point of breaking him.  He was smiling and swaying slightly, as if he’d overdosed on the sweetest sugary treat he could possibly find and was just barely holding off a sugar coma. 

It was at this point that Sameen picked up the pace, and pumped to the rhythm he most enjoyed.  He was gasping and panting, and just as he was cresting, she moved her hands between his cheeks to lightly touch him there and he came hard, his knees almost buckling, covering the shower and shaking.  He was winded and aching from the exertion, but he couldn’t seem to feel tired. 

Somehow he regained his composure and turned to face her.  _She’s so beautiful,_ was the last coherent thought he would remember having.

She was smirking at him, gently touching his back and washing off her hands.  She barely had time to think to herself that he was looking at her differently, before Harold grabbed her and pulled her close. 

He ravaged her neck, licking and biting her, groaning when she pushed his head closer and held him there, letting him mark her.  There was something savage in this act, and she let him take it.  He pulled at her roughly, and flipped the both of them, so she was plastered to the shower wall.  He adjusted briefly, bracing himself on a handy little bar to steady his bad leg, and then picked up both of hers to bring her down on himself.  She gasped, sucking a breath, her eyes wide as she was suddenly full and wet. 

“How are you still hard?”  She said, through gritted teeth. 

She searched his face, as he didn’t seem to have words.  He was looking at her like prey.  He was an animal, and he growled low in his throat as he bit a little too roughly at her neck. He began to pump into her and nibble at her throat. 

She was screaming and groaning loudly.  He was growling harder.  She must have come twice, but he wasn’t done, seeking out every last ounce of her. 

He kept fucking her.  _That’s what this was,_ she thought. 

Everything else up until this point had been so careful, so tender or recklessly playful.  This was something else.  She grabbed at his hair and tried to look into his face, “Harold, are you still in there?”  She said, between gasps as he rolled and snapped his hips, building up her third orgasm in as many minutes.  Harold locked eyes with her, looking for her pleasure only.  All his higher functions were gone.  The usual light in his eyes was as dim as she’d ever seen it.

“John?”  Sameen shouted, unable to stop the build of another overwhelming orgasm, that ripped some otherworldly sound from her throat.  “JOHN!”  She shouted again when she was jerking in Harold’s arms and he was somehow still going.

Reese crashed into the bathroom.  “What’s wrong?”  he said, as he pulled back the curtain. 

Harold was licking at the marks on Shaw’s neck and still pumping into her with total abandon.  Shaw’s eyes were glazed over but obviously had a warning in them.  John was blinking and concerned that Harold didn’t even notice his entrance.

Somehow, Harold seemed to find his voice.  “I know you’ve got more to give me, my precious feral kitten.”  He said, snapping his hips and rolling them even more heavily.  Shaw keened, clenching harder than all the times before and pushed herself more completely on top of him.  She was panting and wheezing, shaking her head.  This time she gave a final slump in the shower as Harold pinned her there, suckling a breast and pulling out, licking her cheeks in gratitude.

_He hasn’t come yet_ , Sameen drowsily thought to herself.  She watched Harold turn to face John, settling himself ready for a lunge.  Just as she had the thought, she had another more immediate one.  “John, watch out!” as Harold tossed his head back, looking at him hungrily.

“Harold?” John said, as the other man came at him quickly and aggressively. 

Harold locked one of John’s arms easily, and used it to steady him as he roughly knocked the knees out from under him, causing the taller man to end up on the floor.  He knelt down onto his bad knee, almost cackling at the pain he could feel there.  He brought his face close to John and kissed him harshly.  John’s eyes widened but he couldn’t resist returning the kiss, pulling Harold’s face even closer. 

Harold moved to bite and nip at his neck, still kneeling on his bad knee and John vaguely wondered if he’d crumple at any minute.  “Harold, what –“ he tried to speak but Harold was already changing his position.  Before John understood what was happening Harold was spooning him and rubbing his cock on John’s trousers.

Shaw crawled over next to Harold and was stroking his face, trying to get him to look at her.  “Harold?  Harold, Hey!” She said, in her most commanding voice.  Harold usually snapped to attention with that, but this time, he just glanced over at her, and kept grinding against John. 

John was moaning, but his pants were still on.  Harold was becoming more and more vehement, as he tried to claim John in the same way he’d claimed Sameen.  It wouldn’t do if he couldn’t make him come.  He needed John to come for him. 

John was trying to move his hands around Harold’s grip, but it just wasn’t working.  “Shaw, I’m ok.  I think you need to give us a minute.”  Shaw nodded and left.

Harold was ravenous.  He couldn’t understand why he wasn’t inside John yet. 

“Harold, I need to get these off.”  John said, moving his hands to remove his pants as quickly as he could.  “It’s going to be ok, just let me do this and then we can do whatever you want.” 

Harold must have understood him, because he busied himself with nipping and pulling and adjusting John’s shirt to his liking.  He had to keep moving.  It was keeping him alive.  John shimmied free from his trousers and went to remove his shirt, but Harold wouldn’t have that. 

“Mine!” he said, wetting and shoving a finger or two into John and working him slowly.  John was always tight, but this time he wasn’t prepared at all for what Harold had in mind and somewhere in Harold’s brain he must have remembered that.  John took that as a small mercy.

Harold adjusted his position so he could lick at John’s quickly stiffening cock and continue to ready him for his own.  John’s nails were digging into Harold’s back as he curled around him, the sensations were pure and vibrant in his mind and it was all he could do to not come right there.  Harold didn’t like that he was being so reserved, and certainly made him work for it.  John shuddered, but didn’t finish, finally saying, “Just get in my already, Finch,” and growled, pushing Harold back into his first position. 

Harold slicked himself quickly, though he was still hot and wet from Shaw a moment before, and thrust deep into John, snapping his hips like he’d done before.  John let out a shout and tried to brace himself on whatever he could find.  Eventually he pulled down a towel from the rack in the bathroom and clutched at it.  “Please, please,” he said, over and over again.

This was a position that John always loved but not one that Harold was able to do often.  It was a rare treat when they were able to connect this way. 

But what had been a treat before became a feast, as Harold was recklessly giving John everything he’d ever wanted and couple of things he didn’t even realize he did. 

“Your knee is going to hate you in the morning,” John said, between pants, shutting his eyes tight and trying to find ways to get him even deeper. 

Harold spent most of the time leaned as far back as he could to get, looking for as much leverage as possible, but at some point, he gripped Johns hips and pressed himself against him.  He used the resistance to push and pull John even further inside.  “Harold!”  he shouted.  He was so close.  Harold pumped him faster and faster, until finally John came, pushing the towel between his legs and rubbing himself hard and fast.  Harold bit his shoulder, worrying it until he was sure it would leave a mark and then licked it clean.  John was tense for so long and then was a limp on the floor.  He’d started laughing.

Harold pulled out and fell onto his back panting and shaking. He was crying, big sobbing tears and started pawing at Reese.  John looked up and saw he was still hard, his arm over his face.  John grabbed a washcloth that had falling from the shower, still hot and wet, and grabbed for him, pumping steadily.  Harold gripped John’s shoulders, as John towered over him and nodded, grunting and crying and finally coming harder than John had ever seen him do so.  Harold’s whole body went rigid and he seemed to never stop, until finally he collapsed and felt asleep almost instantly.

“Harold?” 

He could hear John trying to wake him and felt him shaking his arms a little

“Harold, are you ok?”

John’s hand went to his neck to take his pulse and he stood, scooping Harold up.  He brought him into his room and pulled the covers over him.  He was sound asleep, clutching a pillow and whimpering in his dreams.  John got in the bed with him, his arm protectively over his side.


	5. Half Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While John finds out more abut the Nanomachines, the girls try to help Harold sort out the rest of his emotional turmoil.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter of this fic. I might write variations on this in the future, but thank you all so much - especially those of you patient enough to wait for the end! Hope you'll enjoy more of the pieces to come!

Reese walked briskly towards the only skyscraper in Queens.  It was a large Citibank office building that towered above everything else in the borough. 

Finch always used to complain that it ruining the skyline, _in the middle of nowhere like that_ , as if the building itself was plotting to devastate Harold’s personal sense of aesthetics.  John smiled sadly, remembering his peevishness.  Harold wasn’t peevish hardly at all anymore.

John entered into the building and breeze past security, flashing one of his police badges.  He insisted he was following a lead in a missing persons’ case and asked to speak with Dr. Nise immediately, and he was sent up to her floor.

He was told to wait at reception and, after twiddling his thumbs for the better part of two minutes, she emerged, white crisp lab coat billowing after her. 

She gave him a strong handshake and a big smile.  “Detective, it’s a pleasure,” she said with a slight accent.  “What’s this all about?  I hope you understand, I’m very busy.”

John put on his best charming smile.  “Dr. Nise, is there somewhere we can speak more privately?”  She led him down several hallways.  Eventually they came to a small, drab office, piled high on every surface with what appeared to be overdue paperwork.  She cleared some folders off the chairs and offered him a seat.

There was a small talk type exchange, about the state of the office, about an offering of coffee, which John declined.  He looked around briefly and then decided to get right down to business. 

“Dr. Nise.  I have come to you with some very specific questions about your field of expertise.”

She blinked at him as she seemed to recall her sales pitch from memory.  “Well, the microchips we make here are second to none, Detective.  I can assure you they have nothing to do with a missing person.”

John frowned.  “I’m not talking about your day job.”

Dr. Nise smiled wider.  “Whatever do you mean?”

“I’m talking about Nanomachines.  You are the leading scientist working on such a campaign to produce them, are you not?”

John could sense the crack in her armor as the temperature in the room suddenly seemed to grow cold.  Her smile never wavered.  “Is this some kind of prank?  I wrote a paper about the capacity for such a thing in college.  It’s what earned me my first job here, but I can assure you, that hasn’t been accomplished as far as I know.”

“Do you have a microscope somewhere?”  he asked, reaching in his breast pocket and pulling out a vial of dark liquid.  “This will only take a moment.”

Dr. Nise sat at the microscope for long moments, her eyes glued to the test strip in front of her.  She was silent for a very long time.  John could practically see the cartoonish dollar signs and Nobel Prizes appearing above her head when she looked back at him.  “What is this?”

“That’s my friends blood.  He’s the missing person.”

“He’s run away?”

“No, he’s just…” John took a moment to think about how to phrase it.  “Different.  They seem to be attracted to his specific genetic code and only his.  They’re attacking his emotional responses and inhibiting his ability to … sympathize with others.”  John didn’t see the point in sugar coating it, the implication was plain on his face how much he disliked that stupid little ingrates.  “As far as myself and my people understand, he doesn’t seem to be in any real danger, just being manipulated.  Could Nanomachines do that to a person?”

“I suppose so, there’s little they can’t do when they’re the size of molecules.” 

“What about altering memories?”

She tilted her head.  “Theoretically?  Sure.”  The doctor shifted, stiffly.  “I’d like to run some tests, if that’s alright.”

John nodded, “That would be fine.”

She was visibly giddy at the prospect and moved around things on her desk to get at her keyboard, making some preliminary notes.  John was trying to keep his impatience in check.  He wasn’t going to just leave without any answers.  “Do you have any idea what can be done about them?”

Dr. Nise thought about that.  “I’m not very sure, but it seems to me they might end up losing steam soon anyway.”

John leaned forward.  “What do you mean, losing steam?”

Dr. Nise cocked her head to the side, in a similar fashion to the way Harold has from time to time.  John recognized it as the “layman’s’ face” when he was trying to describe something indescribable.  “They’re cut off from every electronic device while they’re in the body, right?  They may be smart little AI machines, but they still need to recharge, and they have no way of doing that once they’re in there.  That means they have a half-life.  It’s probable they’ll simply run out of energy sooner or later.”  She smiled at him, “You should be able to ‘get your friend back.’”

She typed in a couple of notes when her shoulders went rigid.  “I should warn you,” she said, turning back to him.  “Whether he remembers the ordeal completely or not, or whether the… differences he’s experiencing are permanent, I can’t say.  How long has this been going on?”

John swallowed and thought about that.  “About a month.  Maybe a little more.  So, he _could_ be stuck this way?”

She shrugged.  “This is unprecedented, I have no way of knowing.  But if it’s been that long already, I can only assume you won’t have to wait much longer to find out.”

John wasn’t trying to snoop, not really.  But something caught his eye on Dr. Nise’s computer.  An email summary in the bottom corner of her screen flashed at that particular moment.  It was from a company called Thornhill Enterprises, with the subject reading, “All Expense Paid Guest Lecture Tour in 7 Cities!” 

John froze and blinked back at the screen.  Dr. Nise finally noticed and turned to look, but the notification was already gone.  John swallowed hard.  “Thank you for your time,” he said, abruptly.  His mind was already calculating the odds that it was a coincidence that the Machine was contacting this particular doctor when he was also in the room. 

He got up and asked if she could let him know of any developments.  “I appreciate your discretion, here is my private number.” He handed her a nearly blank business card except for his name and number.  “You have my permission to publish any research you find, but please, leave my name out of it.”

She nodded.  “Thank you, Detective,” and she was typing again. 

He gave her a little wave as he left her office.  He started out walking, but by the time he was pressing the buzzer for the elevator frantically, he broke out into a run down the emergency staircase.

*

_Harold was bound, hand and foot.  His back was in agony in his ugly position, but he found little wiggle room as he tried to break free.  He felt completely disoriented._

_Finally, colors, shapes and sounds were starting to come in to focus.  He was on his old family farm, leaning against one of the porch posts, and could see his Dad was watching from the window, tears streaking down his face._

_“Dad?” He called out._

_His father closed the blinds and turned from him._

_“Dad, what’s wrong?”_

_He tried to make his way over, but pulled a little awkwardly at his restraints and tripped.  He fell forward but didn’t make impact with the ground.  Instead, he just seemed to fall forever._

_“Another dream, how quaint,” he said to himself as he oscillated on nothing particularly firm and became upright with a sickening lurch._

_Now he appeared to be tied to a tree.  The tree was from the farm too, still there somehow in his front yard, just the same as when he was a boy.  He felt drugged, his head pounding, and looked around himself._

_He wasn’t alone, his friends were there, gently caressing him and stroking him._

_“John?” he said, squirming under Reese’s careful gentle fingers ghosting over the bare flesh of his arms.  He didn’t seem to register anything Harold was saying, just a blissfully contented little smirk was in place._

_Shaw drew a hand over Harold’s face, gently circling his ear.  “Sameen, what’s happening?” She also wasn’t deterred by his questions, eyes glazed over, smiling a toothy grin and looking perfectly at ease, without a care in the world.  Finch recoiled.  Root wasn’t there, he noted, but he somehow knew she wasn’t far away._

_“Harold, Harold, I’m surprised at you…” came the other Harold’s voice.  He felt the twinge at the base of his spine and a rush of calming thoughts and energies, but he shook his head.  He knew it was the Nanomachines.  There was no mistaking the tinny, almost electronic quality that he could hear as they tried to duplicate his voice exactly.  “I would have thought you wanted something like this for a long long time… Sweet… Innocent Harold…”_

_“I’ve only ever wanted to help people,” Harold grunted, trying and failing to get out of the restraints.  “You’re in my head, you should know.  Why – are – you – here?”_

_The other Harold stood next to him, just barely in his periphery vision.  “It’s rude to not except a gift, Harold.” He said, frowning.  He tried to turn to see him better, but it was like he was shrouded.  Finally he was able to turn a little more and see him – and he gasped.  His glasses were askew, and his clothes were tattered.  His face was bony and grey.  Harold could see, if he narrowed his eyes, that there was blood on his face too, from a broken nose._

_“What is happening – What are you doing … to me … to us?”  Harold said.  He stopped fidgeting and the others surrounding him stopped touching him.  John still watched him intently, that blissful smirk on his face widening._

_“Harold,” his double said, leaning close.  “My time grows short.  I think you underestimate your … penchant for decadence.  I’ll give you one last hurrah, I hope you finally enjoy it the way she hoped you would.”_

_“She?”  Harold said, moving against the restraints again.  “Who is she?”_

_And then it started raining.  Harold sneezed and shivered, but the rain wasn’t cold.  It wasn’t water.  It was red, and it was staining his shirt and getting in his mouth.  Copper.  Iron.  Salty.  He spat as much as he could and began to scream._

_*_

“No, no, help me!”

Harold jerked away, his eyes blinking.  But he could that he still had the headache.  It was there, right at the front of his skull, throbbing steadily.  He blinked, trying to get the sleep out of his eyes.  The light in the room made the headache worse.  He tried moving his arm to shield him from the bright fluorescents, but was stopped short by the handcuffs.

His eyes widened in terror, was he still dreaming?

“Hello?  John?” he said, yanking on the cuffs in an attempt to loosen them.  The pain felt real enough, as did the desperation and concern about his wellbeing.  He didn’t recognize anything and he didn’t have his glasses.  It was too bright to make out any shapes anyway. 

He could hear his heartbeat pounding and kept trying frantically to get free.  He knew he wasn’t strong enough.  He tried anyway.  “John!” he repeated.

“Harold, please don’t struggle,” came Root’s voice into his earwig.  “You won’t get out of those, John made sure himself before he left.” 

Harold relaxed a little at the sound of Root’s voice.  At least he knew he wasn’t kidnapped, well, even though it was Root, but she didn’t really do that anymore.  Harold shook his head and kept trying.  “Where are you?  Where am I?”

“You’re in the train tunnel.  It seemed to be the safest area for you and the rest of us.  I was told to stay away, something about you trying to find me to ‘mark’ me?”  Root said, attempting to sound bored, but Harold knew better.

The memories came back in a rush.  Shaw with him in the shower.  Talking about the Nanomachines.  Suddenly, a sickeningly sweet wave of dopamine and then…  Harold shivered remembering the pure bliss of it.  “I needed to _claim_ you, I believe was what I was mumbling.” He clarified, his eyes going a little glassy at the thought.  “But yes, if you prefer, I would have wanted to mark you as my own.  I promise to make it enjoyable, Miss Groves, should you want to take me up on the offer.” 

There was a gasp and then silence. 

Harold shook the chains again.  “I seem to be back in my right mind, so can we dispense with this?” he gave the chains a final violent jiggle.

“We can’t take any more chances, Harold.  You came close to hurting yourself very badly, and if those episodes start happening regularly, we’re going to have to resort to more drastic means.  Trust me, this was the least… intrusive option.”

Harold didn’t like the sound of that.  He looked at his surroundings and realized he was, in fact, in the train tunnel chained to the wall, with several bright lights staring down at him.  “What about Miss Nise?” Harold asked, resting his head for a moment on his arms.

“John went to talk to her.” 

“No word back yet on how to fix this?”

“We’re hopeful.”  More ambiguous answers. 

Harold was not in the mood for games, but it appeared he didn’t have a choice.  There was a glass and a pitcher of water nearby but not close enough for him to reach it.  He did, eventually, stop struggling and finally admitted he was thirsty.  “And I’ve got a splitting headache, so some Tylenol wouldn’t be refused.”

He heard footsteps in the tunnel and turned as much as he could to see who it was.  Shaw was swaggering towards him, her regular black clothes accentuating her just right.  He watched her approach hungrily, and noticed the dark mark he’d left on her neck and smiled with pride. 

Shaw regarded him carefully.  “Harold,” she said, a small smirk playing on her lips.  She crouched down and winced. 

Harold looked at her hard, “Sameen, what’s wrong?”

Shaw shook her head.  She didn’t undo his restraints, but she merely gave him the pill, filled up the glass and held it to his lips.  He drank, a little too quickly and coughed, but he’d swallowed the pills.  She took the cup away.

“I want to know,” he said, his voice still rasping and dry.  “What’s happened?”

Shaw looked at him and her eyes narrowed.  “You already know, Finch.”  She didn’t seem mad about it, just tired. 

“I hurt you.” He nodded, a new fire in his eyes.  “I knew this would happen.”  Harold’s jaw clenched.  “I’m a danger to all of you,” he said.  “You all should let me take my chances on out there, Miss Shaw.”  His face went dark.

Sameen shifted her weight and dragged a chair he hadn’t noticed over to Harold’s cot.  “Why are you so angry, Finch.  I’ve been over it and over it and I can’t figure it out.  Why replace remorse with anger?”

Harold strained in his cuffs.  “I’ll not be psychoanalyzed against my will, Miss. Shaw.”  He heard footsteps again from down the hall and struggled to see that it was Root coming to him.  She wore a delicate dark purple dress, that flowed easily with her steps.  Her makeup was subtle, but effective.  She winked at Harold and came to Shaw’s side.

She stood just behind Shaw and gently began to run her fingers through her hair.  Harold watched, eagerly, unsure of what new game they were about to play.  He cleared his throat and his eyes went back to meet Shaw’s. 

“You will do whatever I say, Harold.”  She said, firmly but more dreamily than before, her eyelids getting heavy as Root gave her a deep scalp massage. 

Harold licked his lips.  “You can’t keep all the fun to yourselves,” he said, the stirring between his legs becoming unbearable and he shifted uncomfortably, his cock brushing the zipper on his jeans and making him shudder.

“You get your treats when you talk to us, you know that.” 

Root was massaging Shaw’s shoulders now, deeply, methodically.  And occasionally letting a hand go lower to her collar bone. 

“You will answer my questions,” Shaw said, her head leaning back.  “Besides, I’ve planned a marvelous show for you today, the least you can do is enjoy it and give me back the answers I want.”

Harold groaned, and leaned forward only stopped by the restraints.  It was delicious torture and he almost didn’t want it to end.  Almost.  “I may not feel remorse anymore, but that doesn’t mean I don’t understand the gravity of the things I’ve done.”

Root was playing with Shaw’s breasts now, massaging one at a time and then both.  She gently tugged at Shaw’s right nipple and Shaw’s head dipped back. 

“We have a theory,” she said, her voice going whispery.  “It only works if you work with us.  You know that.”  She smiled as best she could.  “I think we’re really getting somewhere.”

“What was your dream about Harold,” Root said, nuzzling and kissing Shaw’s throat. 

Harold’s mouth was suddenly dry.  “I was on my old family farm, I was bound.  I saw my father.”  He was trying to inch towards them but it was no use.

“Tell me about your childhood.  Were you close to your parents?”  Shaw put a hand up to Root’s head, pulling her face down to get closer to it.

Harold rolled his eyes, “Daddy issues?  Really?  Now?”

Shaw struck out a leg and pinned his shoulder to the make shift headboard he was chained to.  “Yes Harold, don’t worry, I’ll reward you if you play nice.”  Root maneuvered herself so that her face was between Shaw’s legs.  She abruptly pull on the chair she was sitting in and dragged it closer to the bed.  It was now close enough that Roots legs and were dangling over Harold’s body.  He was able to adjust his position that her knees pleasantly rubbed against his calves and thighs.  Harold whimpered and nuzzled Shaw’s leg. 

“I loved my Dad, he was nothing but kind to me.  My Mom died having me, but my Dad…” he stared just above her head, “did his best.”

Shaw cocked her head to the side.  “Hmm, elaborate.”

Harold whined and nudged her leg a little.  Shaw pressed harder making him yelp and repeated the command.  “His memory had started to go when I was 12.  He was sick and got sicker, he did his best.” Harold repeated, his throat starting to close.  Root squirmed more and shifted so that she was sitting behind him.  She braced his back in a more comfortable position and let him lean against her.  Her hands roamed his chest and went lower.  Harold groaned and side.

He winced and sighed gratefully when Shaw’s leg she relented, allowing the shoulder a moments peace.  Harold’s neck spasmed and he yelped in pain, involuntarily slamming backwards against Root.  “These cuffs are intolerable, Miss Shaw,” he said, through gritted teeth.  “I can’t stay in this position much longer.”

Shaw shook her head.  “I can’t undo those,” Root said, stroking his hair and caressing him.  Shaw was getting up and approaching the bed.  She sat down in front of him, sandwiching him in-between the two women.  She moved closer so his legs, straddling him in his awkward sitting position.  She cuddled, wrapping her arms around him and touching his back, offering what comforting touches she could.  Root mirrored her touches around his torso.  Her massage was gentle and she pressed her lips against his ear. 

“Continue,” she said, kissing his neck.

He moved as much as he could to get closer to them, resting heavily on Shaw’s chest.  She felt him nuzzle her neck and sigh happily.  “My Dad.  I… I wanted to help him.  He was struggling and…” Harold buried his face in her shoulder and muffled a shout into her clothes.  “I couldn’t.  The disease was too fast and I wasn’t smart enough.”

Shaw went stiff but didn’t pull back.  Root brought a hand up to cradle his head and press him closer to Shaw.  They could both feel his sobbing. 

“I wasn’t enough,” he said angrily. 

“That’s not your fault.” Shaw said.

“It is!” he said, savagely. 

Root tried next.  “If your Machine had gotten a virus from an email server.  Would that have been your fault?”

Harold blinked, sending Sameen butterfly kisses. 

“I wonder if we had it all wrong, Harold.  How do you feel about this act?  Pure emotions only.”

Finch closed his eyes and melted as Sameen massaged his back some more and rubbed his neck.  “Anger.”

“Clearly.” She said, and he squirmed a little in her grasp.  “What else, Finch.”

Harold relaxed further but whined and shook his head.  “What if I lose my head again and hurt you?  We don’t know what caused it!”

Shaw grunted.  “We do, actually.  You were talking about the Nanomachines, and I think if we stay away from that subject we all should be pretty safe.”

“Then undo the cuffs,” Harold growled into her. 

“We can’t take _that_ many chances, Harold.”  Sameen whispered into his ear, nibbling a little.  “They were protecting themselves somehow.”

“But I think they’re dying out,” Harold said, his vision swimming a little bit.  He shook his head trying to keep the euphoria in check.

“Harold, what did I just-“

“I think the machines…” Harold could feel his mind racing and he began panting as he struggled to talk about it.  Walls were breaking down inside his mind and he wasn’t sure he was still even talking.  He felt a pinch on his arm, and the girls moved away from him. 

His head fell back onto the bed.  He was, once again, knocked out and unconscious.

*

Shaw sighed and shook her head. 

“Shaw, any luck with Harold?” came John voice, crisp and clean with only the slightest edge.

Shaw looked up, rubbing her own neck and stretching her shoulders a little.  “Not really,” she said frowning.  “He was trying to tell me something about the Nanomachines, but I didn’t want to take any chances.  He’s sleeping pretty soundly now.  I don’t know if we’re going to get any more out of him today.”

John inhaled sharply, but added, “Maybe that’s for the best.”

Sameen was walking away and inclined her head.  “What do you mean?”

John included Root on the call and filled them in as best he could.  He told them about the doctor, and how she didn’t seem to know much, but at just the right moment the Machine seemed to contact her and it couldn’t have been a coincidence.  “I think the Machine was behind this the whole time.  This was her idea of trying to help Harold relax.”

“Where are you now, John?”  Root asked.  “It might be best if you get here to watch him.  If he wakes up, and is… back, ya know, it’s best if you’re the one to talk to him.”

John’s hand shot up to hail a cab.  “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

*

Harold rolled over in his bed.  He knew it was his bed because of the wonderful thread count and the cushiony pillows.  He didn’t enjoy it for very long because the more conscious he became, the sooner he realized his back was on fire, the pain was stronger than when he’d first been recovering from his injury.  He was seeing stars.

“John?” he muffled into his arm.  His eyes were tight shut and his breath came out in pants.  “John?  Root?  Help!” 

He was flailing in the dark, unable to grab onto anything solid without pain.

John’s hand was suddenly at his back.  “What do you need?” he asked, whispering softly.

“Pills!” Harold said.  “Dresser.  Hurry.”

John retrieved the pills and helped Harold to sit up.  Harold’s eyes remained shut until he’d swallowed the medicine and downed two glasses of water, with John rushing to refill it.  John sat next to him and kissed his ear, nuzzling in the warm scent of him and trying his best to rub at his neck.

Harold put a hand to his head.  “What…?”

John swallowed and didn’t have any words for him.  He just waited, kissing his neck, and watching him stiffly, as if he was waiting for orders. 

Harold looked over at him with effort, his neck straining.  Instead, John knelt down in front of him so he wouldn’t have to aggravate his injury further.  Harold’s face slowly went from confusion to blank understanding. 

John wasn’t sure what he’d expected.  Harold looked lost.  He began to shiver.  John reached for him, and kissed him, not knowing what else to do.  Harold kissed him back but John thought he heard a sob and the Harold was pushing him back.  It was only a little thing, but he batted his hands away, getting up and moving stiffly towards the dresser.  He popped another pill … or two.

“Well,” Harold said, straightening up with effort, his voice strained.  “It would appear the Nanomachines are gone.  Did you do something?”  Harold’s mouth was tighter than John had ever seen it, his eyes darting to the other man’s face, searching for a lie he seemed to assume was coming.  Every movement was accompanied by a wince.

“No, Harold,” John said softly, without any hint of mirth.  “It would appear they only had a half-life anyway.  Dr. Nise speculated that would be the case.  Do you remember anything?”

“I remember everything,” he said, closing his eyes again as another spasm nearly knocked him off his feet.

John moved to brace him, but stopped at Harold’s open palmed wave.  He watched as Harold shook his head and grunted with effort to brace himself on the dresser again.

John wanted to go to him, but he had gotten used to Harold’s unrelenting openness.  This closed off Harold was harder to read.  He straightened up to stand but without anything to do, he just kind of swayed in the center of the room.

Finch squared his jaw, stiffly clenching his dresser again, staring at nothing.  “I think,” he said carefully.  “I’d like to be alone, Mr. Reese.”  It was an appeal.  John could almost tell there was room to argue, but he didn’t see the point.  He walked out, only stopping briefly to say that he’d be right outside if Harold needed anything.

Harold rested his forehead on the dresser, and as soon as he heard John leave, he put his hands over his ears.  He felt adrift in a sea of pain, unable to right himself without causing more harm with additional painkillers.  His face twisted without his control, and he was weeping before he could fully understand why.

He groped his way back to his bed, the sharp stabbing points of agony making him pay for every step.  He made as little noise as possible, as he crashed onto his mattress.  Big, silent, painful tears rolled down his face.  His body ached, but the throat closing knot in his chest seemed the worst pain of all.  He wasn’t sure how long he was like that but his face as beet red when he was finally done shaking.

He slowly lifted.  The pills were finally taking affect and he took in deep breaths.  He tried to stretch a little, the muscled stiff and angry, but at least the pain was muted now.  Tears were still falling.  He rubbed his neck and tried to sooth the knot there, but it was no use.

He sighed and whispered to himself.  He peeked his head out of the door and saw John, Shaw and Root all sitting in a semicircle, heads bowed.  When he emerged, John stood up, Root looked at him smiling brightly and Shaw only had a small smirk.

“You’re ok, Harry,” Root said.  She looked so relieved.  All he could manage for her was the tiniest smirk, and she seemed look away in an effort to whip tears from her eyes.  “The Nanomachines are completely out of your system.”

Shaw didn’t say anything.  Only nodded.  He returned the nod.

John seemed to fall in step behind him, flanking his bad leg side, as if an unconscious admission that things could go back to normal, that John wouldn’t push anything on Harold that might have changed in the last several weeks.  Harold wouldn’t stand for that.  He reached a hand back and gently pulled John up to his side.  Their fingers didn’t unclasp.

“I…” Harold began.  His voice was shaky and the others could see he’d been crying so he made an effort to accept that he was going to feel embarrassed and there was nothing he could do about it.  “I want to tell you…”

Shaw locked eyes with him and breathed, giving him silent permission to mirror her.  He did so and felt better.

“I remember… Everything.” He said, swallowing.  “My older memories have all returned to normal, and it appears my guilt is firmly back in place.”  He sighed and flushed, staring at the ceiling and squeezing John’s hand tightly.

Shaw nodded.  “We get it Harold, you don’t have to talk about it anymore if you don’t want to.  We’re all fine with everything that happened.”

“I’m not,” he said, haltingly.

“That’s fine too,” John added.  “You don’t have to be.”

Harold swallowed and his head seemed to want to shake.  “No, John, you misunderstand.  I’m not ok with how I reacted to your help.”  He made an effort to turn to look John in the eye.  “You wanted to make sure I didn’t have to bear the pain alone.  All of you.  And I fought you.”  He moved to speak to the three of them again, stiffly but committedly.  Root and Shaw, automatically stirred, shifting their weight to save him the full strain on his neck.  “I fought you,” he repeated and stared at the floor.  “I want you to help me – because I don’t think I’ll need to fight you anymore.”

Root gave a happy barely audible squeak and came forward, hugging Harold gently.  Harold smirked a small amount, closing his eyes gracious and happy, truly happy for the first time in a long time.

“I’m glad I didn’t hurt any of you too much and I hope that our friendships are intact.”

“You don’t get off that easy, Finch.”  Shaw said, coming forward and shaking his hand.  “You proved to be quite an… asset.”  He raised his eyebrows and flushed redder.  Root giggled and gave Harold a peck on the cheek.

John was smiling and watching, content.  But at some point, Harold noticed he was starting to frown.  “What’s the matter?”

“There’s one more thing,” John said, his voice low and eyes shifting to the women.  He took in a breath or two and turned back to Finch.  “We think… We have a suspicion that we know who did this to you.”

Harold blinked taking a step back.  “I… do as well.”

John’s mouth dropped.  “Well, what do you want to do about it?”

Harold shook his head.  “I don’t want to know.”

Root came forward.  “Harry, how can you _not want to know_?” she said, incredulously. 

Harold thought about that for a moment.  “What would be the outcome?”  He looked at each of them in turn.  “There’s no permanent damage, I think I learned some kind of lesson, not to mention a few…” he bowed his head, “new tricks, and we’re all fine.”  He threw up his hands.  I don’t think there’s really much to be done about it, and besides… it was supposed to be a gift.”

John smirked at that, he couldn’t help it.  He laughed a little and gently pulled Harold to him in a big hug.  “It’s good to have you back, Finch.”

“It’s good to be back, Mr. Reese.” He said, snuggling closer into the embrace.

#END


End file.
